UC-NRLF 


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!!!iiili! 


BiJlilJiiiia  ■ 


LIBRARY 

OF    THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Class  <7l$$ 


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<^^  <^s/     L^  r 


£j&y  (ht^^u^  )*£/- 


SCROPE; 


OE, 


THE     LOST     LIBRARY. 


A  NOVEL  OF 


NEW    YORK    AND     HARTFORD. 


BY  FREDERIC  B.  PERKINS. 


HJSC  FABULA  NARRATUR. 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 

1874. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1874,  Oy 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


GENERAL 


Boston  : 
Land,  Avery,  &  Co.,  Stereotvpers  and  Printers. 


CONTENTS. 


PART  I. 

PAGE 

The  Book  Auction;  Scropes  and  Van  Braams;  The  Detective         ....      7 

PART  II. 

The  Shadowing  "Wings  and  the  Nigger  Baby ;  Mr.  Tarbox  Button,  the  Subscrip- 
tion-Book Publisher;  He  trains  a  Canvasser;  The  Scrope  Will  and  Signa- 
ture         30 


PART  III. 

Gowan's  Second-hand  Book  Catacomb;  Mr.  Van  Braam  and  Jacob  Behmen;  The 
Unique  Scrope  Genealogy ;  A  Broadway  Paradise 56 

PART  IV. 

N 

A  Billiard  Saloon;  Mr.  William  Button  wins  of  Mr.  Oppenheimer;  A  Faro  Bank; 
The  Solidarity  de  VAvenir 84 


PART  V. 

A  See-ance  at  Mrs.  Babbles's;  The  Great  Philosopher,  Mr.  S.  P.  Quinby  Anke- 
tell  and  the  Development  of  the  Germ;  Mr.  Anketell's  New  Language  .        .  106 


PART  VI. 

The  Death  of  a  Waiter-Girl  ;  Dr.  Toomston's  Sermon,  with  Pictures  of  the 
Doctor's  Hands ' 122 


PART  VII. 

A  Theological  Dinner  at  Mr.  Button's;  The  Scrope  Association  and  the  Estate 
in  England 136 

PART  VIII. 

A  Party  at  Mr.  Button's,  with  Indian  Philology,  a  Ghost  Story,  and  a  Love 
Song 151 


101469 


4  Contents. 

PART  IX. 

PAGE 

Adrian's  Meditations ;  lie  declines  Mr.  Button's  Business  Offer,  and  receives  a 
Pair  of  Mittens 173 

PART  X. 

An  Old  Hartford  House  and  an  Old  Hartford  Lady;  Mr.  Jacox  the  Book  Can- 
vasser and  his  Customer;  Adrian  searches  a  Paper-Mill,  and  finds  Some- 
thing       1S8 

PAET  XI. 
The  Scrope  Chest ;  Adrian  as  a  Sick  Nurse        .  204 

PART  XII. 
Adrian  as  a  Defender  of  the  Oppressed ;  A  Broadway  Fire ;  Inside  the  Building   .  218 

PART  XIII. 
The  Police  Station  Cells ;  The  Morning  Jail-Delivery 233 

PART  XIV. 

The  Culmination  of  Mr.  Button's  Career;  Adrian  gets  rid  of  one  of  his  Mittens; 
The  Finding  of  the  Lost  Library 247 


SCROPE;   OR,  THE   LOST   LIBRARY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"Half-a-dollar,  halfadollarfadol- 
lafadollafadollafadollathat's  bid  now, 
give  more'f  ye  want  it !  Half-a-dollar 
five-eighths  three-quarters  —  Three- 
quarters  I'm  bid :  —  will  you  say  a 
dollar  for  this  standard  work  octarvo 
best  edition  harf  morocker  extry? 
Three-quarters  I'm  bid,  three-quarters 
will  ye  give  any  more  ?  Three- 
quarters,  threequarttheequartthee- 
quawttheequawttheequawt  one  dol- 
lar shall  I  have  ?  " 

Thus  vociferated,  at  a  quarter  past 
five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  Tues- 
day, January  9th,  A.  D.  186 — ,  with 
the  professional  accelerando  and  with 
a  final  smart  rising  inflection,  that 
experienced  and  successful  auctioneer 
Mr.  Howlarid  Ball,  a  broad-shouldered 
powerful  looking  man  of  middle 
height,  with  a  large  head,  full  eyes,  a 
bluff  look,  spectacles  and  plenty  of 
stiff  short  iron  gray  hair. 

A  tall  personage,  old,  gaunt  and 
dry,  but  apparently  strong,  with  dus- 
ty black  clothes  and  a  "  stove-pipe" 
hat,  pulled  down  over  his  eyes,  in  the 
front  row  of  seats,  a  little  to  one  side 
of  Mr.  Ball's  desk,  answered  in  a 
grave  dry  deliberate  voice, 

"  Seven-eighths.  But  it's  damaged." 

"No  tain't  either"  sharply  an- 
swered the  auctioneer,  "what  do  ye 
mean,  Chase-?" 

"  Catalogue  says  so.  It  says  the 
titlepage  is  greasy." 

Every  man  at  once  examined  the 
catalogue  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  a 
laugh  arose  as  one  and  another  detect- 
ed the  mistake  that  old  Chase  was  jest- 
ing about.  The  printer's  proof-reader 
—  as  sometimes  happens  even  to  proof- 


readers—  had  been  half  learned,  and 
out  of  the  halfnessof  his  learning  had 
substituted  "lubricated"  which  he 
knew,  for  "  rubricated,"  which  he  did 
not,  and  the  catalogue  bore  that  the 
book  had  a  lubricated  titlepage.  Ev- 
erybody laughed  except  Chase,  whose 
saturnine  features  did  not  change. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Ball,  "  pay 
no  attention  to  Chase's  jokes,  but  go 
on  with  the  sale.  Seven-eighths  I  am 
bid.  Seven-eighths,  sevnatesnatesnate- 
snatesnate  say  a  dollar,  somebody  !  " 
implored  he  in  his  strong  harsh  voice. 
Then  he  paused  a  moment  and 
looking  around  upon  his  hearers  with 
an  earnest  expression,  he  slowly  lifted 
his  right  hand  as  if  about  to  make 
oath  before  any  duly  qualified  justice 
of  the  peace  or  notary  public  : 

"  Going.  Will  nobody  give  me  one 
dollar  for  that  valuable  and  interest- 
ing work,  octarvo  best  edition  harf  mo- 
rocker extry,  cheap  at  five  dollars  ?  " — 
A  pause  —  "Gone!  Chase  at  seven- 
eighths." 

As  he  said  "  Gone,"  down  came  his 
hand  with  a  slap.  The  hand  is  in 
these  days  often  used  for  the  tradi- 
tional hammer,  as  a  decent  dress-coat 
is  instead  of  the  judge's  ermine.  The 
following  words  were  his  announce- 
ment to  his  book-keeper  of  the  cus- 
tomer's name  and  the  price  ;  and  then 
Mr.  Ball,  turning  again  to  the  audi- 
ence, observed  with  a  grin  and  a  queer 
chuckle  —  "And  a  good  time  mister 
Chase'll  have  a  gittin  his  money 
back!" 

A  young  man  in  a  back  seat  whis- 
pered to  his  neighbor, 

"He  said  Chase.     Isn't  that  Gow- 


Scrope 


The  Lost  Library. 


"What's  the  next  line?  "  sung  out 
Ball  at  this  moment  to  an  assistant  at 
the  side  opposite  to  the  book-keeper, 
always  behind  the  long  desk  or  counter 
which  separates  the  high-priest  from 
the  votaries  in  such  temples  as  this  — 
"  What's  the  next  line  ?  Oh  yes,  num- 
ber ninety-three,  gentlemen.  '  Bequeel 
de  Divers  Voyges.'  Something  about 
the  pearl  fisheries  I  guess.  How  much 
moffered  P  th'  Eequeel,  gentlemen? 
Full  of  valuable  old  copperplate  illus- 
trations ;  rare,  catalogue  says,  —  I 
spose  that  means  tisn't  well  done  (chuc- 
kle) —  rare  and  interesting  old 
book"  — 

"  Yes.  He  always  buys  by  that 
name,"  briefly  answered  the  young 
man's  neighbor,  looking  up  a  moment 
from  entering  "7-8  Chase"  in  the 
margin  of  his  catalogue  against  No. 
92. 

"Do  they  all  do  so?"  queried  the 
young  man. 

"  A  good  many.     You  see  "  — 

"  Shut  up  there,  Sibley  !  "  broke  in 
the  strong  business  voice  of  the  auc- 
tioneer. "  Order  in  the  ranks  !  I 
can't  hear  myself  think,  you  keep  up 
such  a  racket !  " 

The  words  were  sufficiently  rough, 
but  the  speaker's  bluff  features  wore  a 
jolly  smile,  and  he  ended  with  a  short 
chuckle.  He  was  right,  too,  in  sub- 
stance, and  the  person  he  called  Sibley 
did  "  shut  up,"  though  a  kind  of  sniff 
and  a  meaning  smile  and  look  at  his 
young  companion  intimated  the  dis- 
sent of  superior  breeding  as  to  the 
manner  of  the  request. 

The  sale  was  one  which  might  be 
classed  as  "  strictly  miscellaneous."  It 
is  true  that  a  hasty  glance  at  the  title- 
page  of  the  catalogue  informed  the 
reader  in  "  full  faced  display  type  " 
that  there  was  a  "  valuable  private  li- 
brary ;  "  but  a  closer  inspection  would 
show  that  like  those  speakers  who  go 


at  once  from  whisper  to  shout,  this 
deluding  inscription  leaped  from  small 
" lower-case  "  to  a  heavy  "condensed 
Gothic,"  somewhat  thus : 

"CATALOGUE 

of  books,  including 

A  VALUABLE   PRIVATE  LIBRARY, 

etc,  etc." 

No  doubt  it  was  "valuable"  in  a 
sense.  So  is  dirt.  But  assuredly  no 
human  being  having  his  wits  about 
him,  would  give  shelf-room  to  such  a 
mess  as  this  was,  taking  it  all  to- 
gether, unless  for  purposes  of  com- 
merce. It  was  one  of  those  sales  that 
are  made  up  once  in  a  while  from 
odds  and  ends  of  consignments,  with 
some  luckless  invoice  of  better  books 
mingled  in,  to  flavor  a  little,  if  it  may 
be,  the  unpleasant  mass.  But  the 
plan  is  sure  to  fail ;  poor  Tray  is  judg- 
ed by  his  company ;  the  good  books 
go  for  the  price  of  poor  ones,  the  poor 
ones  for  the  price  of  "  paper  stock  ;  " 
the  account-sales  ends  with  a  small 
additional  charge  over  and  above 
receipts  against  the  consignor  to  meet 
expenses,  cataloguing  and  auctioneer's 
commissions ;  and  the  consignor,  using 
indefensible  terms  of  general  re- 
proach, goes  through  the  absurd  ope- 
ration of  paying  money  for  the  loss 
of  his  property.  The  auctioneer's 
shelves  are  cleared,  at  any  rate,  and 
ready  for  replenishment  with  those 
gorgeous  or  rare  books  which  he  loves 
to  sell,  feeling  his  commission  rising 
warm  in  his  very  pockets,  as  the 
emulous  calls  or  nods  or  delicate  wafts 
of  catalogues  or  tip-ups  of  fore-fingers 
flock  up  to  him  from  every  part  of  the 
room,  and  his  voice  grows  round  and 
full  as  he  glances  hither  and  thither, 
hopping  up  the  numeration  table  ten 
dollars  at  a  time. — 

How  still  the  room  grows,  when 
such  a  passage-at-purses  soars  aloft 


JScrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


9 


like  the  spirits  of  tlie  dead  soldiers  in 
Kaulbacli's  "Battle  of  the  Huns," 
into  that  rare  and  exhausting  two-or- 
three-hundred-dollar  atmosphere ! 

But  there  was  none  of  that,  on  this 
occasion.  The  number  of  "lines" 
or  lots,  in  the  catalogue,  was  only  two 
hundred  and  eighty-nine,  in  all.  In 
the  New  York  hook-auctions,  some- 
what more  than  a  hundred  lots  an 
hour  are  commonly  despatched ;  the 
cheaper  the  lots  the  faster  they  must 
be  run  off;  and  in  the  present  instance 
a  single  sitting  of  two  hours  or  so 
was  deemed  an  ample  allowance.  The 
actual  bulk,  or  weight,  or  number, 
whichever  category  you  may  prefer, 
of  volumes,  however,  was  very  con- 
siderable, as  the  common  practice  had 
been  pursued  of  "bunching  up"  five, 
ten  or  twenty  of  the  miserable  things, 
into  parcels  with  a  string,  and  cata- 
loguing them  somewhat  thus : 

245.  T upper's  Proverbial  Philoso- 
phy etc.  5  vols. 

246.  Patent  Reports  etc.  10  vols. 
Some  valuable. 

247.  School-books.     20  vols. 

Well:  the  sale  went  on,  Chase  buy- 
ing an  extraordinary  number  of  lots, 
and  a  small,  short,  bushy-bearded  and 
wonderfully  dirty  Israelite  who  sat 
next  him,  and  whom  the  bluff  auc- 
tioneer irreverently  saluted  when  he 
first  bid  with  "  Hallo  !  you  there,  fa- 
ther Abraham  ?  "  buying  a  very  few 
bundles  at  two  cents  or  three  cents  per 
volume.  The  securing  of  one  of  these 
small  prizes  by  the  dirty  man  seemed 
to  irritate  worthy  Mr.  Ball ;  for  having 
offered  to  the  company  the  succeeding 
lot,  and  there  being  a  moment's  pause 
in  which  no  one  bid,  the  auctioneer 
with  much  gravity  exclaimed, 

"Put  it  down  to  Chase  at  five 
cents !" 

"  I  won't  have  it ! "  said  the  old 
man. 


"Ye  shall  have  it  —  what's  the 
next  ?  "  was  all  the  auctioneer  replied, 
with  a  facetious  chuckle  and  an  as- 
sumption of  great  violence,  and  down 
it  went  to  Chase,  while  Mr.  Ball,  with- 
out heeding  his  remonstrances,  went 
straight  on  with  the  next  lot.  This  was 
a  worn  looking  octavo  volume,  with 
what  is  technically  called  a  "  skiver  " 
or  "  split  sheep  "  back  and  old-fash- 
ioned marbled  board  sides. 

"  Number  109,"  cried  the  auc- 
tioneer ;  "Reverend  Strong's  ordina- 
tion sermon  and  so  forth.  Valuable 
old  pamphlets,  and  what'll  you  give 
for  It  ?  "  —  with  a  quaint  sudden 
stress  on  this  seldom  emphasized  pro- 
noun, as  if  Mr.  Ball  had  meant  that 
the  poor  neglected  thing  should  find 
one  at  least  to  think  it  of  some 
weight. 

"Ten  cents,"  said  old  Chase,  in 
his  grave  dry  voice — "what's  the 
book?" 

"  Twenty-five,"  said  somebody. 

"  Thirty,"  called  out  the  young 
man  who  had  asked  about  Chase. 
His  voice  was  eager,  and  no  doubt 
more  than  one  of  the  sharp  veterans 
present  said  to  themselves,  at  that 
intonation,  "  Ah,  I  can  put  him  up  if 
I  like  ! "  But  the  sale  was  dull ;  as 
it  happened  no  one  did  "  put  him 
up." 

"Thirty  cents  I'm  bid,"  proceeded 
Mr.  Ball;  "Thirty,  thirty,  thirty. 
Say  thirty-five.  Thirty-five  shall  I 
have  ?  And  gone  [slap]  for  thirty 
cents  "vvhizzit  ?  " 

"  Cash,"  was  the  reply  to  this  in- 
quiry for  a  name ;  and  the  buyer, 
stepping  up  to  the  desk,  paid  his 
money  and  took  his  book. 

"Mark  it  delivered,"  resumed  the 
auctioneer  ;  "  The  next  is  number  110, 
Life  of  Brown.  How  much  will  you 
give  for  It  ?  How  much  for  Brown  ? 
The   celebrated   Brown  !     Come,   bo 


10 


Scrope ;   or,   The  Lost  Library. 


quick,  gentlemen  !  I  can't  stay  here 
all  night !  One  dollar  one  dollar  one 
dollawundollawundolla  why  is  that  too 
much  ?     "What  will  you  give  then  ?  " 

"  Two  cents"  timidly  ventured  the 
soiled  dove  of  a  Hebrew,  who  looked 
as  if  he  had  "lain  among  the  pots" 
ever  since  the  idea  of  doing  so  was 
first  started. 

"No  you  don't!"  exclaimed  the 
scandalized  auctioneer,  "  I'll  give  three 
cents  myself.  Here,  Chase,  now  I 
expect  you  to  offer  five  cents  apiece 
for  every  boo*k  on  this  catalogue." 

"  1*11  do  it,"  returned  the  old  man 
promptly ;  and  the  humble  hopes  of 
the  poor  Jew  were  effectually  extin- 
guished. He  rose  and  quietly  stole 
out  of  the  room,  his  head  bent  forward, 
with  an  air  of  exhaustion,  suffering 
and  patient  endurance.  No  wonder ; 
it  must  have  been  a  burden  to  carry 
the  real  estate  and  perfumery  to- 
gether that  were  upon  his  person. 

As  he  went  oat,  in  came  Sibley  in 
haste,  from  the  hall  outside,  and  re- 
sumed his  seat,  which  nobody  in  par- 
ticular had  observed  him  leaving,  call- 
ing out  as  he  did  so, 

"  What  number  are  you  selling?  " 

"One  hundred  and  ten,  Sibley, — 
five  cents  is  bid,  seven  and  a  half 
will  you  give  ?  " 

"  One  hundred  and  ten  !  "  exclaimed 
Sibley,  greatly  discomposed  —  "I 
wanted  one  hundred  and  nine  ;  got  an 
unlimited  order ;  I  was  only  called  out 
for  a  moment  —  who's  got  it  ?  " 

"  Cash  is  his  name,"  returned  the 
accommodating  auctioneer,  chuckling ; 
and  a  long  thin  fellow  who  bought 
books  in  the  name  of  Park,  and 
whose  quiet,  shrewd  and  rather  sati- 
y  rical  cast  of  features  denoted  much 
character,  added  briskly, 

—  "  and  cash  is  his  nature.  Be  on 
hand  next  time,  Sibley.  '  Too  late  I 
staid,  forgive  the  crime.'  " 


But  Sibley  paid  no  heed  to  their 
chaffing,  and  the  sale  went  noisily  on, 
while  Mr.  "  Cash "  civilly  informed 
his  disappointed  neighbor  that  he  had 
bought  the  book,  and  at  the  same 
time  handed  it  to  him  for  inspection. 
Sibley  took  it,  and  barely  glancing  at 
the  title  page  of  the  first  pamphlet  in 
it,  returned  it  with  thanks  ; 

"Thank  you  (then  to  the  auction- 
eer) —  five-eighths  !  (then  to  Cash) 
My  customer  wanted  that  first  ser- 
mon, no  doubt  (then  to  Ball)  Yes !  — 
quarter  (then  to  Cash)  I've  got  a 
fresh  uncut  copy  that  I'll  give  hirn. 
for  the  same  money  (then  to  Ball) 
No  —  let  him  have  it  (then  to 
Cash)  — much  obliged  to  you  all  the 
same." 

The  young  man  who  had  described 
himself  as  "Cash"  now  proceeded 
to  give  the  volume  a  vicious  wrench 
open  across  his  knee;  took  out  his 
knife  and  cut  the  twine  strings  at  the 
back ;  then,  turning  the  covers  back 
together,  as  cruel  victors  pinion  their 
captives'  elbows  close  in  behind  them, 
he  passed  the  knifeblade  behind  a 
smaller  pamphlet  bound  out  of  sight, 
as  it  were  among  the  full  sized  octa- 
vos that  constituted  the  bulk  of  the 
volume,  so  as  to  slit  it  out  complete, 
perhaps  bringing  with  it  a  film  of 
the  sheepskin  of  the  back,  held  to  the 
pamphlet  by  the  clinging  dry  old 
paste.  Then  he  again  passed  the 
volume  to  his  neighbor,  observing 

"  There  ;  that's  all  I  wanted  ;  I'm 
going,  and  I  shall  leave  the  rest  of 
the  volume  any  way;  so  I'll  make 
you  a  present  of  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Sibley,  rather  startled 
—  "  stay  —  however,  if  you  say 
so"  — 

And  he  laid  the  book  in  his  lap, 
for  the  young  man  had  risen  with 
sudden  quickness  and  was  already  out 
of  the  room. 


Scrope 


The  Lost  Library. 


11 


CHAPTER    II. 


There  is  a  small  oblong  upland 
meadow,  of  an  acre  or  thereabouts 
in  extent.  It  is  enclosed  by  a  high 
but  ruinous  board  fence,  showing 
signs  of  prehistoric  paint,  and  its 
line  reels,  as  it  were,  every  now 
and  then,  sometimes  outward  and 
sometimes  inward,  as  if  quite  too 
drunk  to  be  steady,  but  still  obstinate 
in  clinging  to  the  general  line  of 
duty ;  a  strange  cincture  for  the  ne- 
glected grass  land  within,  which 
seems  more  likely  to  be  shut  in  by 
the  traditionary  post-and-rail  or  the 
still  more  primitive  "  stake-and-rider  " 
of  the  farm.  This  area  is  uneven,  as 
if  it  had  never  since  the  removal  of 
the  first  forest  growth  been  once  well 
levelled  and  cultivated  ;  humpy  almost 
as  if  irregularly  set  with  old  graves  ; 
all  overgrown  with  meadow  grass, 
long  and  fine  and  thin,  like  ill  kept 
hair  of  one  now  growing  old;  and 
looped  and  tangled  here  and  there  in 
the  hollows,  in  dry  wisps  and  knots, 
alon  g  with  a  scanty  growth  of  brambles. 
At  distant  points  there  are  a  few 
trees.  Two  or  three  are  ancient  apple 
trees,  dry-barked,  thin  of  leafage, 
unhappy  and  starved  in  aspect. 
There  is  one  solitary  Lombardy  pop- 
lar; an  erect  shaft,  obstinately  point- 
ing upwards,  though  wizened  and 
almost  bare,  like  an  energetic  old 
fashioned  maiden  aunt,  good,  upright, 
rigid  and  homely.  The  largest  group 
is  a  clump,  or  rather  a  dispersed 
squad,  of  weeping  willows  ;  unexpect- 
ed occupants  of  such  high  and  dry 
and  thirsty  earth.  Yet  there  they 
stand,  with  the  dried,  scrawny,  half- 
bald  look  that  pertains  to  the  very 
earth  beneath  them,  and  to  every 
thing  that  grows  out  of  it ;  their 
long  sad  boughs  trailing  to  the 
ground,  so    nearly  destitute  even  of 


the  scanty  lanceolate  foliage  which 
is- proper  to  them,  as  to  repeat  at  a 
little  distance  the  idea  of  the  grass 
—  that  of  long  thin  neglected  hair. 

In  the  middle  of  the  space  around 
which  these  dreary  trees  stand  like  a 
picket  line,  is  that  which  they  were 
doubtless  meant  to  adorn ;  an  old 
comfortless-looking  white  wooden 
house.  It  is  not  ruinous,  but  is 
ill  repaired  and  will  be  ruinous  very 
soon ;  in  a  year  or  two  more  the 
dingy  white  will  verge  into  a  dingy 
brown  ;  warping  clapboards  will  have 
worked  loose  at  one  end,  and  the  slop- 
ing line  of  only  two  or  three  of  them 
will  throw  a  disreputable  shade  over 
the  whole  front ;  some  furious  night- 
blast  will  fling  those  loose  bricks  that 
balance  on  the  rim  of  the  large  old- 
fashioned  central  chimney-shaft,  down 
with  an  ominous  hollow  bang,  upon 
the  loosened  shingles  of  the  roof,  and 
thence  to  the  ground :  the  shock  will 
dislodge  the  shingles  and  admit  the 
rain  into  the  roomy  old  garret  in 
streams,  instead  of  the  slow  strings 
of  drops  that  now  make  their  quiet 
way  here  and  there  in  upon  the  floor. 
When  that  point  is  reached,  the  de- 
struction goes  on  more  swiftly.  Even 
if  small  boys  do  not  break  many  a 
ready  road  through  every  old-fash- 
ioned little  window-pane,  the  leakage 
through  the  roof  itself  will  not  require 
many  years  to  loosen  the  faithful  old 
plaster  of  the  ceilings  of  the  second 
story  rooms,  to  lay  it  in  ruin  upon 
their  floors,  and  to  make  its  steady 
way  onward  to  the  lower  floor,  by  a 
process  not  unlike  that  to  which  the 
French  were  forced,  in  penetrating 
the  heroic  city  of  Zaragoza. 

Even  to  say  where  this  desolate  old 
house  and  lot  is  not,  would  never  sug- 
gest where  it  is.  Any  one  familiar 
with  New  England  will  say,  That 
is   like  an  old  family  homestead  in 


12 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


some  ancient  Connecticut  or  Massa- 
chusetts town,  where  all  the  young 
people  have  regularly  moved  away 
every  year  for  the  last  century,  and 
the  old  people  have  died,  and  the  old 
houses  are  dying  too. 

True ;  it  is  like  it.  But  the  old 
house  and  lot  is  not  there.  It  is  in 
the  heart  of  New  York  City  —  that  is, 
the  ground  is  there,  and  the  old  house 
too,  unless  it  has  heen  pulled  down, 
which  to  be  sure  is  likely  enough.  The 
place  however  is  on  Hudson  street,  a 
considerable  distance  above  Canal,  and 
nearly  or  quite  opposite  an  old  church. 
But  the  old  church  may  be  gone  too, 
by  this  time.  At  any  rate,  so  it  was 
at  the  time  of  the  auction ;  and  the 
graded  level  of  the  four  streets  around 
—  for  this  lost-looking  spot  occupied 
a  whole  block  —  contrasted  stiffly  with 
the  humps  and  hollows  within.  More 
than  one  such  piece  of  waste  real  es- 
tate can  be  found  in  every  great  city. 
Sometimes  it  is  land  unimproved, 
sometimes  it  is  covered  with  ruinous 
shabby  little  hovels  standing  among 
great  business  houses  or  rich  man- 
sions, sometimes  it  is  a  costly  tene- 
ment standing  shut  and  empty  3'ear 
after  year.  The  reason  is  commonly, 
either  minority  of  heirs,  a  lingering 
law-suit,  or  a  capitalist's  whim. 

The  parlor  of  this  house  was  a  com- 
fortably furnished  well-sized  room  of 
no  very  particular  appearance,  with  an 
open  grate  and  a  bright  coal  fire,  a 
piano,  tables,  curtains,  and  "  tackle,ap- 
parel  and  furniture  complete,"  as  they 
say  in  a  ship's  bill  of  sale.  Something 
there  was  however  about  the  room, 
rather  to  be  felt  than  seen,  and  which 
not  every  one  could  perceive  at  all. 
This  something,  when  recognized, 
proved  to  be  a  feeling  that  somebody 
lived  in  the  room  ;  that  it  was  used  ; 
was  occupied ;  was  a  home.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  say  what  gave  this  im- 


pression. Perhaps  it  was  that  the 
chairs  did  not  all  stand  on  the  meri- 
dian ;  that  the  willow  work-basket  at 
one  side  of  the  fireplace  was  a  little 
too  far  out  in  the  room,  as  if  put  there 
on  purpose ;  and  that  it  overflowed 
with  the  gracious  little  engineries  and 
materials  of  feminine  domestic  manu- 
facture ;  that  a  book  lay  carelessly 
over  the  edge  of  the  shelf,  and  several 
others  and  some  magazines  and  pa- 
pers, in  no  order,  on  the  table  ;  that  a 
curtain  hung  a  little  one  side,  as  if 
some  one  had  looked  out  of  the  window 
and  had  let  the  curtain  fall,  instead 
of  executing  a  precise  re-adjustment 
of  it.  The  room  and  its  contents 
seemed  as  if  in  process  of  use ;  not  as 
if  under  effort  not  to  use  them,  nor  as 
if  set  apart  for  show,  or  for  consecra- 
tion. Some  would  say,  no  doubt,  that 
this  feeling  was  from  the  impressions 
or  emanations  or  atmosphere  —  the 
persisting  color  or  flavor  or  tone,  or 
all  together  —  that  had  been  dispersed 
about  this  room  and  printed  upon  its 
whole  bounds  and  contents,  by  those 
who  dwelt  in  it. 

However  this  may  be,  something 
of  this  kind  there  was.  The  room 
was  rather  dusky  than  light  however, 
for  the  colors  of  wall-paper,  carpet, 
curtains,  table-cover  and  furniture 
alike  were  chiefly  of  rather  sombre 
and  rusty  reds  and  browns.  A  little 
conservatory  opened  from  one  window, 
which  was  cut  down  to  the  floor  on 
purpose.  This  was  filled  to  overflow- 
ing with  strongly  grown  plants,  most 
of  them  of  the  ornamental-leaved  soi-ts 
that  have  become  such  favorites  with- 
in the  last  ten  or  fifteen  years ;  and 
among  these  glowed  the  magnificent 
blooms  of  some  of  the  brightest  and 
largest  flowered  pelargoniums  and 
tuberous-rooted  fuchsias.  There  was 
a  small  fountain  and  basin  with  gold 
fish,  almost  buried  under  their  leafage ; 


Scrope  ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


13 


and  above  over  it,  hung  from  the  roof 
by  scarlet  cords,,  a  large  brightly  col- 
ored shell,  from  which  grew  a  grace- 
ful feathery  plume  of  green  sprays. 

Of  ornaments  or  works  of  art,  there 
were  but  very  few  in  this  room.  The 
principal  one  was  a  large  and  broadly 
executed  steel  engraving,  whose  white 
"high  lights"  shone  from  its  place 
above  the  grate  in  violent  contrast  to 
the  sombre  quiet  of  the  rest  of  the 
room.  Its  subject  was  simply  horri- 
ble—  one  of  those  powerful  literal  rep- 
resentations of  mere  agony  that  peo- 
ple seem  to  enjoy,  with  a  vulgar  bru- 
tal appetite  like  that  which  draws  a 
crowd  to  see  a  public  death.  It  was 
called  "The  Dying  Camel."  The 
field  of  the  picture  was  filled  with  two 
broad  masses,  sky  and  desert.  Below, 
stretched  the  flat  thirsty  stony  sand, 
lifeless,  endless,  bounded  by  its  one 
heavy  horizon  line,  and  glimmering 
and  trembling  in  the  naked  cruel  still- 
ness of  the  insufferable  sunbeams  that 
filled  the  hot  white  sky  above.  Close 
down  in  the  middle  of  the  foreground 
was  the  huge  dark  ungainly  mass  of 
the  camel,  prostrate,  exhausted.  His 
dead  master  lay  flat  on  his  face  crowd- 
ed under  the  shade  of  the  beast's  flank, 
his  arms  spread  out  at  full  length.  An 
empty  water  flask,  just  beyond  the 
dead  fingers'  ends,  protruded  a  mock- 
ing round  vacant  mouth  at  the  spec- 
tator. The  miserable  camel  had  just 
strength  enough  left  to  lift  its  long 
dry  neck  and  grotesque  muzzle  into 
the  air,  and  the  artist  had  imparted 
to  the  savage  hairy  face  a  horrible 
expression  of  despair,  for  the  sunken 
eyes  watched  the  circlings  of  a  wide- 
winged  vulture  from  moment  to  mo- 
ment poising  himself  close  above  for 
the  first  gripe  of  claw  and  stab  of 
beak ;  and  from  the  extreme  distance 
there  came  flying  low  over  the  sand, 
with  eager  necks  outstretched  before 


them  a  long  line  of  other  vultures, 
already  scenting  their  prey. 

At  the  centre  table  of  this  room,  on 
the  evening  of  the  day  of  the  book- 
auction,  sat  an  old  man.  He  was 
slender  and  almost  frail ;  tall,  dressed 
in  black ;  with  long  silvery  curls,  and 
a  bloodlessly  white  face,  delicately 
featured,  and  whose  thoughtful  spir- 
itual intelligence  was  saddened  by 
some  element  of  sorrow  which  might 
be  weakness  or  disappointment  or 
dissatisfaction  or  pain,  —  any  or  all 
of  them  together.  His  forehead  was 
high,  smooth,  retreating  and  narrow ; 
his  attitude  upright ;  and  the  ease 
and  precision  of  his  movements,  and 
the  clearness  and  brightness  of  his 
eyes,  although  they  were  sunken  deep 
under  the  long  overgrown  eyebrows, 
showed  that  he  had  a  good  deal  of 
life  still  left  in  him.  On  the  table 
under  a  drop-light,  confused  with  the 
books  and  magazines,  were  writing 
materials  and  a  disorderly  pile  of 
papers,  among  which  he  had  been 
working  —  or  else,  as  they  say  in  the 
country  —  "  puttering." 

In  a  wadded  arm-chair  by  the  fire 
sat  a  girl,  easily  enough  recognized  as 
his  daughter ;  and  the  next  observa- 
tion likely  to  be  made  was,  that  old 
as  her  father  was,  he  would  probably 
outlive  her.  She  was  of  middle 
height,  very  delicately  formed,  but 
with  that  roundness  of  modelling 
which  makes  people  look  so  much 
lighter  than  they  really  are.  Her 
skin  was  singularly  clear  and  thin 
and  almost  as  bloodlessly  white  as  her 
father's ;  the  blue  veins  here  and  there 
showing  indicated  that  the  whiteness 
was  not  that  of  opaque  tissue,  but  of  de- 
ficient circulation  and  general  condi- 
tion. Her  heavy  black  hair  was  coiled 
carelessly  at  the  back  of  her  head,  and 
combed  away  from  her  forehead,  and 
from  the  small  white  ears,  so   as  to 


14 


Scropc ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


show  the  wavy  line  that  limited  the 
growth  of  the  hair  along  the  temples, 
and  to  display  fulty  the  remarkable 
width  and  fullness  of  the  forehead. 
This,  indeed,  was  so  marked  that  the 
family  likeness  which  was  unmistaka- 
ble upon  the  two  faces  of  herself  and 
her  father,  existed  there  in  spite  of  the 
contradiction  of  the  foreheads.  Her 
eyes  were  very  large,  of  a  limpid  gray, 
with  long  black  lashes,  and  with  deli- 
cate clearly  pencilled  eyebrows  whose 
line  was  almost  level  for  a  little  ways 
outward  from  the  nose,  and  then  fell  on 
either  hand  in  a  more  distinct  curve. 
The  nose  was  fine  but  high,, with  well 
opened  nostrils  and  thin,  almost  trans- 
lucent tissues,  like  those  of  a  blood 
horse  ;  the  mouth  neither  small  nor 
large,  the  lips  rather  full  than  thin, 
and  as  well  as  the  chin,  beautifully 
modelled,  with  that  statuesque  empha- 
sis and  distinctness  of  cut  whose  ab- 
sence is  one  of  the  defects  of  the  ge- 
neric American  face  —  if  such  gener- 
ic face  there  be.  But  these  lips  were 
much  too  pale  for  beauty  of  color; 
and  they  were  extremely  sensitive ; 
so  much  so  as  to  suggest  some  exces- 
sively wild  and  timid  creature  of  the 
woods  rather  than  a  human  being. 
And  yet  this  vivid  sensitiveness  of  the 
lips  was  contradicted  by  the  serious 
thoughtful  fearlessness  of  the  eyes. 
The  character  of  ill  health  so  clearly 
intimated  by  the  dead  whiteness 
of  the  complexion  and  the  paleness  of 
the  lips  was  greatly  strengthened  by 
the  dark  shades  under  the  eyes,  and 
by  an  undefinable  but  unmistakable 
languor  of  attitude,  movement  and 
of  voice.  Like  her  father,  she  was 
dressed  in  black  ;  a  heavy  rich  black 
silk,  cut  high  in  the  neck,  but  with  a 
small  square  space  in  front  after  the 
pretty  fashion  called  a  la  Pompadour, 
A  narrow  border  of  lace  at  the  neck, 
and  lace  cuffs  to  match,  were  the  only 


approach  to  ornament  in  the  whole 
costume.  There  was  no  ribbon,  no 
bow,  no  ear-drops,  no  necklace,  no 
bracelet,  no  buckle,  no  brooch,  not 
even  a  ring.  The  young  girl's  sin- 
gularly elegant  figure,  the  extreme 
quietness  and  even  impassiveness  of 
her  perfectly  composed  and  refined 
manner,  were  in  some  way  intensified 
and  set  off  by  this  rigid  elderly  plain- 
ness and  richness  of  costume,  which, 
as  the  French  would  say,  swore  furi- 
ously at  her  youth.  Thus  the  whole 
effect  was  a  contradiction,  so  harsh, 
so  violent,  as  to  suggest  at  first  the 
hateful  idea  of  an  obtruded  modesty. 
This  however  quickly  gave  way,  on  a 
little  observation,  to  the  correct  con- 
clusion, that  it  was  an  incongruity 
only.  But  there  was  another  effect, 
which  the  whole  personality  of  the 
girl  produced ;  it  was,  if  one  might 
say  so,  that  there  radiated  from  her, 
or  slowly  gathered  about  her  wherever 
she  was,  not  the  light  and  life  that 
should  glow  from  the  young,  but  an 
atmosphere  —  or  influence  —  that  was 
dark,  and  dreary,  if  not  cold  ;  perhaps 
not  dead,  but  lifeless,  —  is  there 
not  a  shade  of  difference  ?  Lastly  : 
perhaps  the  strongest  —  certainly  the 
most  obvious  mark  of  family  resem- 
blance was  a  habit  of  eye  common  to 
her  and  her  father.  With  noticeable 
frequency  their  upper  eyelids  came 
down  so  as  to  veil  half  the  iris,  and 
delayed  there.  All  that  this  indicat- 
ed was,  reflection,  or  some  other  men- 
tal effort.  Clowns,  for  the  purpose, 
scratch  their  heads;  philosophers  — 
and  people  with  headaches  —  rest 
their  foreheads  in  their  hands. 

A  third  personage  sat  on  a  sofa  at 
the  hither  side  of  the  fire  —  i.e.  to 
your  right  hand  as  you  came  from  the 
door  towards  the  fire  —  opposite  the 
young  girl,  so  that  the  three  were  at 
the  angles  of  a  triangle ;  and  as  if  the 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


15 


two  had  been  chatting  across  the 
hearth  while  her  father  was  busy 
among  his  papers.  This  third  was 
a  young  man  ;  rather  tall,  well  made, 
with  a  noticeable  quickness  and  liveli- 
ness of  manner  and  movement.  He 
was  somewhat  fair,  with  merry  brown 
eyes,  good  white  teeth,  full  lips,  a  nose 
decidedly  well  shaped  except  that  it 
was  too  broad  and  round  at  the  end, 
and  too  thick  in  the  wings  of  the 
nostrils,  as  if  the  maker  being  in  some 
haste,  had  carelessly  left  some  surplus 
material  there.  Otherwise,  the  face 
was  perhaps  at  first  sight  rather  dull 
than  bright;  not  nearly  so  sprightly 
as  the  expression  of  the  eye  and  the 
bearing  of  the  whole  figure. 

A  peculiar  look,  which  might  almost 
be  called  grotesque,  was  given  to  the 
face,  undeniably  well-featured  as  it 
was,  by  the  management  of  the  hair 
and  beard.  The  abundant  crisp  curls 
of  the  hair  were  cut  at  about  two  and 
a  half  inches  in  length  and  trained  on 
a  radiating,  or  what  the  pomologists 
call  the  fan,  system.  Tins  gave  the 
hair  seen  in  profile  the  look  of  a  hrest, 
covering  the  top  of  the  bead  and  jut- 
ting in  an  enterprising  manner  for- 
ward and  upward  from  the  upper  line 
of  the  forehead.  The  front  view  was 
much  more  glorious ;  for  it  showed  a 
thick  frizzled  halo  standing  out  within 
an  almost  circular  outline  about  the 
upper  part  of  tbe  long  oval  of  the  face, 
like  the  solid  aureoles  on  ancient  pic- 
tures of  saints  ;  or  as  if  be  dressed  bis 
hair  by  giving  himself  an  awful  fright 
every  morning.  The  eyebrows  were 
rather  lifted,  giving  a  funny  sort  of 
wide-awake  look,  which  the  young 
gentleman  was  accustomed  to  veil  in 
6ome  manner,  if  it  might  be,  with  a 
double  eye-glass.  Truly,  nature  hav- 
ing exhausted  herself  in  this  magni- 
ficent hairy  crown  of  glory,  bad  come 
short  in  the  matter  of  beard  j  for  the 


chin  of  our  friend  was  sparingly  gar- 
nished with  hair,  that  grew  in  a  little 
thin  brush  or  pencil,  spreading  out- 
ward at  the  ends,  like  the  pictures  of 
the  growth  of  the  bamboo.  A  like 
starved  growth,  as  if  a  few  hairs  had 
been  cruelly  deserted  upon  some  barren 
shore,  struggled  stiffly  for  existence 
upon  his  upper  lip ;  and  some  dim 
prophetic  glimpses  of  the  whiskers 
of  the  future  could  be' seen  by  the  eye 
of  faith,  between  ears  and  chin. 

The  ill-made  gray  suit,  and  the 
clumsy  thick  shoes  indicated  that  he 
was  an  Englishman ;  and  if  this  was 
not'  enough,  there  was  a  perceptible 
awkwardness  of  attitude  and  of  man- 
ner also,  such  as  is  often  seen  among 
Englishmen  even  of  the  best  social 
training  and  experience,  but  which 
in  an  American  would  be  proof  posi- 
tive of  want  of  such  experience.  Last 
and  most  of  all,  the  cockney  shib- 
boleth of  his  speech  ever  and  anon  be- 
wrayed him,  in  spite  of  the  sedulous 
watchfulness  with  which  he  tried  to 
talk  good  English  —  a  language  which 
exists  —  orally  —  only  west  of  tbe  At- 
lantic. In  England  there  are  corrupt 
dialects  of  it  only; — 1.  cockney,  and 
2.  provincial. 

CHAPTER  III. 

"  So  "  —  said  tbe  old  man,  smiling 
indulgently  as  he  spoke,  to  the 
younger  one,  —  "  so,  cousin  Scrope, 
you  think  one  needs  a  good  deal  here 
below,  and  for  a  good  while  ?  " 

"  I  do  so.  —  I  do  indeed,"  replied 
the  young  fellow  :  —  "Now,  I  should 
say,  an  ouse  here  in  the  city,  — ■ 
yacht,  of  course,  —  place  at  Newport 
—  ah,  sweet  place  Newport,  such  soft 
hair,  you  know!  — countwy  seat  on 
the  Udson  —  say  near  Tawwytown  — 
wTas  up  there  yesterday  —  lovely  coun- 
twy, I  ashuah  you.  Went  up  there 
with  Button  —  singular  name   that, 


16 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


Mr.  Van  Bwaam  —  Button,   button, 
who's  got  the  button  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  returned  the 
old  gentleman,  (not  meaning  any  am- 
biguity), —  "  Monsieur  Bouton  would 
seem  quite  fine,  wouldn't  it  ?  By  the 
way,  I  wonder  why  there  has  been 
no  Mr.  Scissors  ?  But  how  do  you 
like  Button's  first  name  ?  " 

"Weally,  I  don't  know  it.  T 
Button  Esq.,  it  said  —  Do  you  know, 
now,  you  ave  a  monstwous  many 
hesquires  in  Hamewica  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  might  call  himself  Baron 
Button  of  Buttonhole,  and  sign  all 
instruments,  and  sue  and  be  sued  by 
that  name,  if  he  chose.  And  he 
might  have  any  coat  of  arms  he 
might  fancy,  —  a  coat' all  over  gilt 
"buttons,  if  he  liked  —  on  his  seal, 
and  on  his  carriage  too,  without  being 
annoyed  by  the  proud  minions  of  the 
College  of  Heralds.  He  may  tattoo 
himself  and  all  his  house  —  and 
grounds  —  all  over,  with  any  insignia 
he  chooses,  for  that  matter.  This  is 
a  free  country,  cousin  Scrope  ! " 

There  was  something  satirical  in 
the  old  man's  manner,  as  if  he  were 
half  laughing  at  both  Americans  and 
English.    .He  went  on  however  : 

"  Tarbox  Button,  his  name  is ; 
'  most  musical,  most  melancholy  ! ' " 

"Most  musical,  most  jolly,  I  should 
say,"  answered  the  young  man..  "  But 
I  can't  imagine  were  e  got  that  name, 
do  you  know  ?  Hit's  certainly  not  in 
my  copy  of  the  Squope  and  Gwosvenor 
Woll.  Bwummagem  name  I  should 
fancy,  Button,  at  any  rate." 

"Father,"  said  the  young  girl, 
with  a  shade  of  grave  motherliness 
and  mild  reproof  in  her  manner  — 
her  mother  was  dead,  and  she  was 
both  mother  and  daughter  to  the  old 
man  —  "  Father,  you  mustn't  be  bad, 
now,  and  make  fun  of  Mr.  Button. 
He  has  been  too  kind  to  us  for  that. 


What  would  you  have  to  do,  and 
where  should  we  find  so  good  a  home 
to  live  in,  and  where  should  we  visit 
at  all,  if  it  were  not  for  him  ?  " 

The  voice  was  very  sweet,  and  was 
low  and  clear  like  her  father's ;  but 
in  place  of  the  slight  but  perceptible 
sharpness  of  intonation  which  re- 
curred every  now  and  then  in  his 
speech,  when  his  sub-acid  humor 
tinged  it,  hers  had  a  striking  liquid 
fulness  like  the  lowest  notes  of  a  full- 
throated  singing-bird.  But  it  was 
neither  sad  nor  glad ;  it  had  a  certain 
indifferent  or  dreamy  quality,  almost 
as  if  the  speech  were  that  of  a  som- 
nambulist ;  or  perhaps  it  was  an  in- 
tonation of  weariness. 

"No  harm,  Civille,"  said  Mr.  Van 
Braam  ;  "  I  was  observing  upon  his 
name,  not  upon  him." 

"Yewy  well  off  is  Mr.  Button,  I 
should  say  ?  "  queried  Scrope. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  old  man. 
"  Here's  this  vacant  piece  of  ground 
that  this  old  house  stands  on,  —  why, 
it  must  be  worth  a  quarter  of  a  mil- 
lion dollars,  and  he  finds  it  conve- 
nient to  hold  it  unimproved  and  pay 
our  New  York  taxes  on  it,  until  he 
has  time  to  speculate  with  it  in  some 
way.  Meanwhile  Civille  and  I  occupy 
one  of  the  most  valuable  estates  in  the 
city,"  added  the  old  man,  laughing. 

"  Do  you  know,  now,"  pursued 
Scrope,  "I  never  should  ave  taken 
Button  for  one  of  the  family  if  Fd 
met  im  by  accident  say  in  Gween- 
land  ?     E  asn't  the  stjde,  at  all." 

"  Why,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
"I've  often  thought  of  it  myself. 
But  he  had  a  pretty  hard  time  when 
he  was  a  boy,  like  a  good  many  other 
rich  people,  and  he  has  made  his  own 
way,  without  any  leisure  to  finish 
and  polish  himself.  Besides  there's 
a  poor  strain  of  blood  in  that  branch 
of  the  family  ;  those  Gookins  that  his 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


17 


mother,  old  Mrs.  Button  came  from 
were  distillers  and  hard*. cases  from 
generation  to  generation,  by  the  town 
records  ;  —  rough,  violent  people,  —  a 
kind  of  natural-born  pirates.  And 
his  wife's  family,  although  they  were 
decent  enough,  were  narrow  and 
small-minded,  somehow.  The  fact  is, 
that  unless  you  take  Button's  execu- 
tive ability  as  showing  Scrope  blood, 
there's  only  the  record  to  prove  that 
he  has  it.  I  don't  know  any  of  the 
rest  of  them  that  have  so  few  of  the 
family  traits.  And  perhaps,  as  we 
are  three  Scropes  here  together,  we 
may  take  Civille's  and  my  Van  Braam 
blood  into  our  confidence  and  mention 
in  strict  secrecy  that  cousin  Button's 
immense  bragging  about  his  Scrope 
blood  is  as  near  an  absolute  proof 
that  lie  hasn't  a  drop  of  it,  as  any 
one  thing  could  be.  All  the  rest  of 
us  like  to  have  it  very  well,  but  no 
other  of  us  would  advertise  it  so  ex- 
tensively." 

"  Now  I  should  ave  fancied,"  said 
Mr.  Scrope,  after  having  listened 
to  all  this  with  evident  and  close  in- 
terest, "  that  Mr.  Button's  political 
hambition  was  more  unnatuwal  in 
one  of  our  connection  than  is  boast- 
ing." 

"Very  justly  observed,"  answered 
Mr.  Van  Braam.  "  A  good  many  of 
us  have  refused  offices,  and  I  know 
none  of  us  except  my  cousin  Button 
who  wants  them.  But  so  it  is  :  Mr. 
Button  is  proud  of  his  descent,  and  he 
is  terribly  fond  of  being  talked  about, 
of  having  influence  and  of  holding 
offices.  I  fancy  he  likes  all  that  best 
of  all,  moreover,  because  it  is  such  a 
capital  advertisement  of  his  books. 
And  he  is  so  energetic  and  shrewd  in 
managing,  that,  you  may  say,  he 
ought  to  have  influence  and  office, 
particularly  as  he  is  reckoned  perfect- 
ly honest.      'The  tools  to  him  that 


can  use  them.'  And  he  is  very  gen- 
erous with  his  money  where  these 
two  interests  of  his  are  concerned, 
and  very  sharp  and  close  with  it 
everywhere  else.  There,  cousin 
Scrope  —  that  is  a  pretty  complete 
account  of  Mr.  Button.  It  has  only 
to  be  filled  out  with  his  minor  traits  ; 
and  those  you  can  see  for  yourself." 

"  A  vewy  good  man  to  ave  on  your 
side  I  should  say,"  observed  Mr. 
Scrope,  smiling.  "  Indeed,  he's  given 
me  some  vewy  good  advice  halweady 
about  horganizingthe  Squope  Associ- 
ation. He  knows  exactly  ow  to  man- 
age people  —  exactly.  E  put  me  up 
to  hall  the  dodges  about  the  news- 
papers, and  about  cowwespondence, 
and  influence  and  intwoductions. 
Do  ye  know,  now,  hi  fancy  I  shouldn't 
ave  been  able  to  awange  this  matter 
at  all  without  im." 

Mr.  Van  Braam  smiled  and  nodded, 
as  much  as  to  say,  The  most  likely 
thing  in  the  world.      Scrope  resumed  ; 

"  This  other  cousin  now,  Chester  — 
your  cowespondent  about  the  gene- 
alogy, —  e's  hanother  sort  of  person, 
I  imagine  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  answered  Mr.  Van 
Braam.  "  He  hasn't  any  money  — 
that  is,  nothing  except  the  little  old 
place  at  Hartford  where  he  and  his 
great-aunt  live  together,  and  the  in- 
come he  earns.  But  an  assistant- 
librarian  doesn't  have  a  very  large 
salary,  and  I  don't  suppose  his  other 
revenues  enable  him  to  do  much  more 
than  live  comfortably.  I  guess  Adrian 
is  a  pretty  clear  case  of  Scrope,  though. 
He  doesn't  care  much  for  money,  he 
is  fond  of  principles,  he  isn't  afraid, 
he  goes  his  own  road,  he  has  managed, 
by  the  help  of  a  capital  set  of  instincts 
of  his  own,  to  make  himself  a  well- 
educated  and  accomplished  young 
gentleman,  he  loves  all  manner  of 
right  thought  and  sound  study,  he  is 


18 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


fond  of  fun,  lie  is  sweet-tempered,  he 
likes  pets  .and  children,  and  old  peo- 
ple, and  they  like  him  ;  and  he  likes 
to  do  things  for  others." 

"  Beg  pardon,"  said  Scrope  of 
Scrope,  "  but  if  hit's  a  fair  question, 
ow  did  e  get  hout  of  eaven  ?  " 

All  three  of  the  company  laughed, 
and  it  was  the  young  lady  who  an- 
swered this  time  :  "  The  sons  of  God 
saw  the  daughters  of  men,  that  they 
were  fair,"  she  quoted.  "It  must 
have  been  my  cousin  Ann  Button,  for 
whom  Adrian  came  down  to  us." 

"  Oh,"  said  Scrope ;  "  then  if  e 
mawies  her  e  won't  need  to  twouble 
himself  about  money." 

"  Very  true  "  replied  Miss  Civille  ; 
"  and  yet  it  would  be  a  great  mistake 
to  suppose  that  Adrian  wanted  her 
money.  I  knew  all  about  their  en- 
gagement. Ann  was  never  very  much 
of  a  favorite  with  anybody  in  those 
days  —  I  don't  know  that  she  is  very 
much  liked  now.  But  then,  she  used 
to  be  really  neglected  and  lonesome 
and  miserable.  Adrian  just  devoted 
himself  to  her  because  nobody  else 
would ;  out  of  pure  kindness  ;  and  so 
they  fell  in  love." 

Mr.  Scrope  bowed  an  acquiescence, 
but  with  a  queer  look,  which  Civille 
understood  perfectly,  and  answered  ; 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  think  it  —  that 
was  two  or  three  years  ago,  when  we 
were  all  younger  and  didn't  think 
so  much  of  money.  Besides,  Mr. 
Button  was  not  nearly  so  rich  then. 
It  was  afterwards  that  he  made  so 
much." 

"  Oh,"  replied  Scrope  ;  —  "  That 
does  seem  like  it.  But  I  don't  sup- 
pose the  money  will  make  him  like 
her  any  the  less." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said 
Civille  reverting  to  her  dreamy  man- 
ner, and  looking  out  from  great  half 
covered  gray  eyes  as  if  she  was  watch- 


ing something  beyond  the  walls  of 
the  room  —  "I  don't  know  about  that. 
If  I  know  cousin  Adrian,  it's  the  like- 
liest reason  in  the  world  to  repel  him." 
"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  observed  the 
old  man  ;  —  "it  would  be  Scrope  all 
over." 

"  If  you'll  allow  me,"  said  Scrope, 
"  I'd  like  to  suggest  that  that  would 
be  more  suitable  to  the  hold  spelling 
than  the  new.  S,  c,  ah,  o,  o,  p,  they 
used  to  spell  it  —  Squoop,  not  Squope. 
Now  old  Colonel  Adwian  the  wegicide 
was  so  vewy  particular  that  I  say  his 
name  gave  wise  to  the  vewy  term 
Squooples.  He  was  full  of  'em.  And 
if  my  Yankee  cousin  is  so  squoopulous, 
I  don't  know  hut  I  shall  advise  him 
to  take  the  old-fashioned  name  again, 
and  leave  off  the  Chester  entirely." 

"  I  dare  say  he  would  like  to  do  so," 
observed  Mr.  Van  Braam.  "  I  want 
you  to  see  him  to-night,  however,  if 
possible,  so  that  you  and  he  may 
know  one  another  a  little  before  the 
Association  meeting.  It  may  be  of 
service  to  both.  And  my  old-fash- 
ioned ways,"  added  the  old  gentle- 
man with  a  good-natured  smile, 
"  make  me  desirous  that  all  those  of 
our  kin  should  know  each  other.  —  It's 
high  time  he  was  here,  too." 

"  I  can't  honestly  say  I  shall  miss 
im,"  said  Scrope,  with  a  gallant  look 
towards  the  young  lady,  "  if  e  does 
not  come.  No  man  could  be  quite 
appy  to  see  another  hadmiwer  in  Miss 
Van  Bwaam's  pwesence  ;  and  I  know 
no  man  can  see  er  without  being  er 
hadmiwer." 

At  this  not  very  elegant  compliment 
one  might  have  seen  Mr.  Van  Braam's 
eyebrows  give  a  curious  lift,  and  he 
just  glanced  at  the  young  man,  but 
without  moving  what  Mr.  Scrope 
would  call  his  ed.  As  for  the  young 
lady  herself,  she  answered  in  her  in- 
different voice : 


Scrope ;   or.  The  Lost  Library. 


19 


"Oh,  thank  you  very  much,  Mr. 
Scrope,  I'm  sure.  But  your  Yankee 
cousin  will  not  be  in  your  way.  He 
is  engaged  already,  as  we  were  saying. 
Indeed,  we  here  are  not  at  all  in  soci- 
ety; you  will  be  free  of  rivals,  both 
with  my  father  and  myself." 

"  There,  cousin  Scrope,"  said  the 
old  man,  "  That's  as  much  as  to  say 
that  you  may  marry  us  both  if  you 
can  get  us !  " 

The  young  Englishman  looked 
rather  uneasy;  even  fewer  English- 
men are  good  at  taking  jokes,  good  or 
bad,  than  at  making  them ;  and  he 
answered  quite  at  random,  but  as  it 
happened  quite  well  enough  for  such 
talk  — 

"  Vewy  appy,  I'm  sure  ! " 

The  perfect  coolness  and  speed  with 
which  the  two  Americans  carried  for- 
ward his  hint  to  such  remote  conse- 
quences had  terrified  him;  for  he 
could  not  be  sure  whether  they  spoke 
in  irony  or  not,  their  manner  was  so 
entirely  grave  and  impassive. 

Mr.  Van  Braam  laughed  quietly, 
the  daughter  just  smiled,  while  the 
old  gentleman  remarked, 

"Not  badly  answered,  cousin 
Scrope;  but  don't  be  alarmed  ;  we  nei- 
ther of  us  propose  matrimony  at  pres- 
ent." 

The  young  man  was  silent  for  an 
awkward  moment ;  when  there  was  a 
ring  at  the  door,  a  card  was  handed  to 
Mr.  Van  Braam,  who  said  "  Show  the 
gentleman  in,"  and  the  absent  kins- 
man entered.  It  was  our  young 
friend  Mr.  "  Cash,"  of  the  auction 
room.  As  he  came  in,  Mr.  Van  Braam 
rose  and  stepped  forward  to  receive 
him,  with  hearty  cordiality.  Miss 
Civille  and  Mr.  Scrope  arose,  as  the 
old  gentleman,  leading  the  new  comer 
toward  the  fire,  presented  him : 

"  I  want  you  to  be  at  home  here  at 
once,   cousin  Adrian."  he  said.     "  Ci- 


ville, you  knew  your  cousin  better  two 
or  three  years  ago  than  now,  but  I 
hope  you'll  make  up  for  lost  time. 
Cousin  Scrope,  I  know  you  and  Mr. 
Chester  will  be  friends,  for  you  are 
kinsmen,  and  you  have  interests  in 
common  besides  at  present,  in  this 
estate  and  association  business." 

Mr.  Adrian  Scrope  Chester  had 
enough  of  general  resemblance  to  Mr. 
Van  Braam  and  his  daughter,  and  in- 
deed to  his  five  or  six  times  removed 
English  cousin,  to  pass  very  well  for 
a  co-descendant.  That  is ;  he  was 
tall,  erect,  well- formed,  quick  and  easy 
in  movement,  and  of  an  intelligent 
and  comely  countenance.  His  brown 
hair,  instead  of  the  cometary  horrors 
of  Mr.  Scrope's,  was  brushed  in  a  con- 
ventional manner,  and  curled  in  large 
soft  curls  instead  of  persisting  in  the 
frizzle  of  the  Englishman,  and  his 
beard  and  mustache  were  thick  and 
fine.  His  eyes  were  of  a  clear  dark 
blue,  his  lips  at  once  full  and  sensi- 
tive, all  his  features  delicate  and  yet 
not  small ;  and  whereas  Mr.  Scrope's 
bearing  and  presence  gave  an  impres- 
sion of  good-nature,  quickness,  levity, 
fun,  Chester's  spoke  of  thorough  kind- 
ness, instead  of  mere  good  nature ; 
of  penetration,  of  insight,  instead  of 
quickness;  of  sense  and  directness  and 
strength  rather  than  levity ;  of  gen- 
eral intellectual  activity,  rather  than 
of  mirth  only.  Comparatively  speak- 
ing, the  American  seemed  to  possess 
large  good  qualities,  of  which  the 
Englishman  had  only  somewhat  small 
imitations.  And  yet  the  English  are 
very  often  what  people  sometimes  call 
"singed  cats  —  better  than  they 
look." 

The  young  people  tried  to  do  justice 
to  Mr.  Van  Braam's  favorable  intro- 
duction :  but  Miss  Civille's  manner 
was  chilling  enough,  although  she  did 
not  mean  it  to  be,  and  indeed  in  spite 


20 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


of  her  intentions ;  so  that  Chester, 
barely  touching  her  hand,  which  was 
cold  and  limp,  said  to  himself,  How- 
did  she  come  to  dislike  me  ?  Mr. 
Scrope  did  rather  better.  He  may 
possibly,  in  spite  of  the  mild  caustic 
that  had  just  been  applied  to  his  dem- 
onstrations of  jealousy,  have  felt  some 
slight  objection  to  the  second  young 
man  in  that  company,  or  it  may  have 
been  his  ordinary  awkwardness  only 
that  was  upon  him.  However,  he 
made  his  bow,  shook  hands,  expressed 
his  pleasure,  and  crowned  the  opera- 
tion by  taking  from  his  pocket  a  card 
which  he  ceremoniously  presented  to 
Mr.  Chester.  Mr.  Chester  received  it 
with  thanks,  delivered  his  own  in 
exchange,  as  seemed  to  be  expected, 
and  then  took  time  to  peruse  the 
legend  upon  that  of  Mr.  Scrope.  The 
phrase  is  correct  —  he  took  time.  The 
card,  a  long  one,  like  those  sometimes 
sent  on  wedding  occasions,  contained 
the  following  composition : 

* 

BRABAZOX  AYMAR  DE  VERE  SCROPE 
OF    SCROPE. 

And  at  the  point  where  an  asterisk 
is  put,  there  was  moreover  a  most 
noble-looking  coronet,  printed  in  the 
three  primary  colors,  very  impressive 
to  behold. 

"  I  am  sorry  my  daughter  was 
absent  at  your  recent  visits  to  New 
York,''  said  Mr.  Van  Braam,  when 
the  four  had  seated  themselves. 
'•  You  and  I  agree  on  so  many  points 
that  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  and 
her  contending  over  them.  She  is 
always  refuting  her  father." 

But  the  kind  smile  and  pleasant 
tone  and  half-mischievous  expression 
with  which  the  words  were  said  gave 
them  a  second  meaning  directly  op- 
posite to  their  grammatical  one. 

"I  am  afraid  of  controversies  with 


ladies,"  said  the  new  comer.  "  They 
receive  things  by  intuition,  instead 
of  groping  to  them  by  feeling  along 
chains  of  reasoning.  Beasoning  will 
not  induce  a  woman  to  agree  with 
you;  reasoning  with  women  is  'like 
hunting  wild  ducks  with  a  brass  band. 
It  scares  them.  I  should  never  hope 
to  convince  a  woman  except  by  mak- 
ing her  like  me  and  then  unintention- 
ally on  purpose  letting  her  see  what 
I  thought." 

••What  treason!"  exclaimed  Miss 
Civille,  this  time  with  a  sufficiently 
perceptible  tone  of  interest. 

"  There  you  go  !  "  exclaimed  her 
father,  amused.  —  "  Thirlestane  for- 
ever !  " 

"Thirlestane?"  queried  Mr.  Scrope. 
"  How  Thirlestane  ?  " 

-  Why/'  resumed  the  old  gentle- 
man :  "don't  you  remember  their 
motto  ?  It's  in  the  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel.  '  Beady,  aye,  ready  ! '  " 
Civille  will  always  answer  the  trum- 
pet call  wdien  it  sounds  for  battle  over 
Women's  Bights ! " 

"Xow  father,"  she  remonstrated; 
"  are  you  going  to  quote  every  min- 
ute ?  How  can  I  entertain  the  gen- 
tleman, particularly  if  you  wish  me  to 
fight  with  Mr.  Chester,  if  you  open 
your  broadside  upon  me  too,  like  that 
miserable  Frenchman  against  John 
Baul  Jones  in  the  Bonhomme  Rich- 
ard ?  " 

"Well,  well,  my  child  —  I'm  dumb 
—  vox  fauribus  hcesitf  " 

•'•  But  permit  me  to  explaii;."  - 
Chester,  with  some  anxiety:  "I  had 
no  treason  in  my  soul.  I  do  not 
mean  that  men  have  no  intuitions, 
nor  that  women  have  no  reason ;  but 
only  that  as  between  the  two.  women 
have  most  of  one,  and  men  of  the  oth- 
er. It  is  just  as  it  is  with  another 
couple  of  faculties — or  sets  of  faculties  ; 
I  mean  executive  power  and  what  peo- 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


21 


pie  call  goodness.  I  believe  men  have 
most  of  the  former,  and  I  believe  wo- 
men are  better  than  men  ;  I  believe 
God  put  them  into  the  world  on  pur- 
pose to  be  better  than  men ;  I  do  not 
believe  that  either  of  them  is  destitute 
of  either  faculty." 

"  I  don't  believe  one  single  word  of 
it,"  said  Miss  Civille,  with  a  resolute 
tone.  "If  women  are  inferior  to  men 
in  any  particular  or  superior  to  them 
either,  it's  because  they  have  been  ed- 
ucated into  going  without  their  rights, 
and  it's  a  great  shame  !  " 

"  Well,"  rejoined  Mr.  Chester,  pa- 
cifically ;  "  Miss  Van  Braam  will  par- 
don me,  I  am  sure,  if  I  venture  to  act 
as  if  I  were  talking  with  a  man  in  one 
particular  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said 
the  young  lady,  almost  alertly  —  she 
had  plenty  of  spirit,  it  would  appear, 
under  that  cold  and  languid  manner, 
and  the  debate  appeared  not  to  be  at 
all  unwelcome  ;  "  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  only  that  really  and  truly, 
I  do  detest  arguing  and  I  tell  you 
plainly,  and  say  I'd  rather  not.  I 
get  so  angry  —  or  if  I  don't,  I  want  to, 
—  when  I  undertake  to  argue.  But 
there's  another  reason  for  my  begging 
off  just  now"  — he  looked  at  the  two 
gentlemen  —  "  I'll  let  you  tread  me 
into  the  very  dust  next  time,  but  there 
are  some  things  that  we  ought  to  talk 
about." 

As  they  all  agreed  that  the  apology 
was  real,  Miss  Civille  was  graciously 
pleased  to  accept  it. 

"First,"  said  Mr.  Van  Braam, 
"when  did  you  come  to  town  ?  I  got 
your  note  only  this  afternoon." 

"  Yesterday,  sir,"  said  Chester.  "  I 
should  have  called  last  evening,  only 
that  I  was  too  tired,  and  to  tell  you 
the  honest  truth  I  went  to  bed  and 
slept  all  night  long." 

"  The  wisest  thing   you  could  do. 


Next,  let  us  arrange  about  the  Asso- 
ciation meeting." 

This  meeting,  however,  as  quickly 
appeared,  was  set  for  that  day  week  ; 
Scrope,  moreover,  in  reply  to  their  in- 
quiries, showed  them  that  under  the  ex- 
perienced guidance  of  Mr.  Button,  all 
things  had  been  put  in  such  readiness 
that  it  only  remained  for  the  persons 
concerned  to  render  themselves  at  the 
time  and  place  appointed.  Both  Mr, 
Van  Braam  and  Mr.  Chester  congrat- 
ulated Mr.  Scrope  upon  the  thorough 
manner  in  which  all  these  prelimina- 
ries had  been  adjusted,  when  there 
was  once  more  a  ringing  at  the 
door-bell,  and  once  more  a  card  was 
brought  to  the  master  of  the  house, 
who  took  it  and  read  it,  saddling  his 
eyeglasses  with  an  experienced  little 
jiggle  on  the  bridge  of  his  nose,  and 
looked  puzzled.  Then  he  read  it 
again,  very  carefully,  half  shutting 
his  eyes,  cocking  his  head  backwards, 
and  focusing  the  object  with  a  kind 
of  trombone  motion.  Then  his  head 
dropped,  and  he  looked  around  him 
like  one  who  has  received  an  unex- 
pected affusion  of  cold  water. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  rather  to  himself 
than  to  any  one  else  —  "  what "  — 
and  he  stopped,  and  said  to  the  ser- 
vant, with  something  of  displeasure 
in  his  manner, 

"Ask  him  to  walk  in." 

Returning  in  a  moment,  the  servant 
reported  that  the  gentleman  had  only 
a  word  to  say  to  Mr.  Van  Braam,  and 
would  trouble  him  but  for  a  very  lit- 
tle. 

Still  with  the  same  wondering  and 
half  displeased  look,  the  old  gentle- 
man arose  and  went  out  into  the  hall, 
leaving  the  door  open.  Listening, 
the  three  others  heard  some  indistinct 
murmur  of  voices  only.  Then  in  a 
few  minutes  Mr.  Van  Braam  said, 
speaking  from  the  hall, 


22 


Scrope ;   or,   The  Lost  Library. 


"Never  mind  me  for  a  little  while, 
young  people  !  "  and  lie  shut  the  door. 
Evidently  the  business  was  to  take 
rather  more  time  than  he  had  sup- 
posed. 

CHAPTER   IV. 

Chester,  when  the  door  had  closed, 
proceeded  to  make  some  further  inquir- 
ies about  the  Scrope  Association  and 
its  operations.  All  these  were  readi- 
ly answered,  becoming  quite  a  debate 
on  ways  and  means,  and  greatly  en- 
lightening the  querist.  The  Associa- 
tion, it  appeared,  consisted,  or  was  to 
consist,  of  the  descendants  of  Adrian 
Scrope,  son  and  heir  of  Colonel  Adrian 
Scrope  the  Regicide,  executed  at  Ty- 
burn on  the  9th  or  as  others  say  the 
17th  October,  1660.  To  these  de- 
scendants, it  appeared,  there  now  of 
right  belonged  a  certain  large  sum  of 
money  representing  property  which 
had  devolved  to  Adrian  Scrope  the 
younger  after  his  flight  to  New  Eng- 
land, and  which  still  remained  so  sit- 
uated that  the  heirs  could  certainly 
recover  it  upon  making  proof  of  their 
descent.  Scrope  of  Scrope,  being 
himself  a  descendant  not  of  the  regi- 
cide Colonel,  but  of  a  younger  brother, 
could  not  inherit  while  there  were  di- 
rect heirs  ;  but  being  fond  of  genea- 
logical investigations  he  had  come  to 
a  knowledge  of  the  facts  in  this  case. 
He  avowed  very  frankly  that  he  de- 
sired to  make  a  profit  by  means  of  the 
affair,  but  he  said  that  he  was  also 
partly  actuated  by  the  equally  lauda- 
ble motives  of  family  pride  and  family 
liking.  It  was  from  these  causes 
that  he  had  come  to  America  with  the 
design  of  searching  out  the  Scrope 
heirs,  forming  them  into  an  Associa- 
tion, becoming  their  agent,  obtaining 
from  them  the  necessary  funds,  proving 
their  claim,  and  receiving  as  compen- 


sation a  proper  percentage,  to  be  al- 
lowed him  when  the  heirs  should  be 
actually  in  receipt  of  their  respective 
inheritances.  This  arrangement,  of 
course,  effectually  prevented  any  mal- 
versation by  the  agent.  In  the  pros- 
ecution of  this  undertaking,  Scrope 
had  first  fortified  himself  with  letters 
and  documents,  and  had  then  come  to 
the  United  States,  where  he  had  for 
some  time  been  investigating,  adver- 
tising and  corresponding ;  and  with 
much  labor  had  advanced  so  far  as  to 
appoint  the  meeting  referred  to,  in 
New  York,  one  week  from  date,  of  a 
number  of  the  American  heirs. 

Miss  Civille  Van  Braam  took  little 
part  in  this  discussion  between  the 
two  young  men,  listening  only,  and 
even  this  was  with  the  air  of  pre-occu- 
pation  or  fatigue  or  almost  melan- 
choly which  was  habitual  to  her.  So, 
when  all  at  once  business  matters 
having  been  sufficiently  debated, 
Scrope  of  Scrope  suddenly  turned  to 
her  and  asked  for  some  music,  she 
started  almost  as  if  from  sleep. 

"Oh!  Excuse  me!  —  What  was 
it  ?  —  I  beg  your  pardon  !  " 

The  request  was  repeated,  and  with 
an  apology  for  her  inattention,  the 
young  lady  very  readily  went  to  the 
piano,  and  selecting  some  music,  play- 
ed, and  then  sang,  with  good  judg- 
ement and  good  execution,  both  instru- 
mental and  vocal,  but  without  much 
emotion.  The  music  she  chose,  appar- 
ently, was  a  graceful  melody  with  lu- 
cidly arranged  accompaniment,  rather 
than  crowded  harmonies  or  techni- 
cal difficulties  ;  it  was  sufficiently  good 
music,  and  at  the  same  time  simple 
enough  for  mixed  society  :  safe  music 
to  play  anywhere.  There  was  a  cer- 
tain ease  and  truth  of  expression  in 
her  fingering  and  vocalizing  however, 
which  seemed  to  intimate  the  capaci- 
ty of  doing  much  morej  and  the  pe- 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


23 


culiar  vibrating  fulness  of  her  voice 
gave  the  impression  of  large  passion- 
ate vehemence  existing,  though  it 
might  be  asleep  and  unconscious  of 
itself. 

Having  ended,  she  smilingly  asked 
Mr.  Scrope  to  take  his  turn,  and  he 
very  readily  complied.  He  sang  one 
or  two  English  ballads  in  a  clear,  not 
very  expressive  barytone  or  rather 
counter-tenor,  and  he  sang  without 
any  embarrassment,  sitting  quietly  on 
the  sofa,  simply  explaining  before  he 
began  that  he  knew  no  instrument. 
This  style  of  singing  is  not  very  com- 
mon in  America,  but  it  might  well 
be  ;  it  requires,  and  gives,  a  sort  of 
self-reliance  of  ear  and  a  peculiar 
completeness  of  style,  exacted  by  the 
absence  of  accompaniment.  The  per- 
formance,   indeed,   was    much    better 


than  any  one  would  have  argued 
from  the  exterior  and  general  bearing 
of  Scrope  of  Scrope  ;  and  he  was  ap- 
plauded accordingly. 

Next  came  Chester,  externally 
much  more  easy  in  manner  than 
Scrope,  but  in  reality  very  much 
more  shy.  He  would  gladly  have  de- 
clined, but  with  some  little  effort  he 
came  up  to  the  mark  like  a  man,  with 
the  allowable  apology  that  he  could 
neither  sing  without  an  instrument 
like  Mr.  Scrope  nor  play  like  Miss 
Van  Braam,  and  should  therefore  give 
them  two  inferior  kinds  of  music  to- 
gether. So  he  went  to  the  piano,  and 
sang  a  little  ballad  of  William  Ailing- 
ham's,  whose  words  and  music  are  suf- 
ficiently a  specimen  of  that  evening's 
performance  to  be  worth  reprodu- 
cing. 


THE    CHILD'S    THREE    WISHES. 


££ 


— g-~ #■ 

ting!      I  wish  I  were  a  primrose !    A 


bright  yellow  primrose, 


* 


d: 


3— 


±=±=z: 


:^=± 


m^s 


=*=E±Z3t 


ad  lib. 

szs 

-0 O «v 


blooming  in  the  spring!  The  fleeting  clouds  above    me,    The       little  birds  to  love  me,  The 


5=3=3 


— <SI- 


P%j=M=#S 


-0- 
-tA- 


24 


Hcrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


^SSHee^ 


fern  and  moss     to  creep    a-cross,    And  the  elm-tree  for    our  kino.' 


n=-t- 


§fe: 


--t=± 


^$E^ 


01 


Oh,  no  !  I  wish  I  were  an  elm-tree  !  — 

A  great  royal  elm-tree,  with  green  leaves  gay: 

The  wind  would  set  them  dancing  ; 

The  sun  and  moonbeams  glance  in  ; 
And  birds  would  house  among  the  boughs, 

And  sweetly  sing. 


Nay,  stay  ;  I  wish  I  were  a  robin  !  — 
A  robin  or  a  little  wren,  everywhere  to  go,  — 
Through  forest,  field,  or  garden., 
And  ask  no  leave  nor  pardon, 
Till  winter  comes  with  icy  thumbs 
To  ruffle  up  our  wing. 


Well,  tell,  whither  would  you  fly  to  ? 
Where  would  you  rest,  — in  forest  or  in  dell  ? 

Before  a  day  is  over, 

Home  would  come  the  rover 
For  mother's  kiss,  —  for  sweeter  this 

Than  any  other  thing. 

Chester  was  no  player,  and  the  air 
was  nothing;  but  he  sang  the  pretty 
little  ballad,  accompanying  it  by  a 
few  chords,  with  so  much  truth  of 
intonation,  with  so  much  expression, 
and  his  voice,  not  noticeable  except 
for  clearness  and  sweetness,  conveyed 
so  much  of  intelligent  sympathetic 
feeling,  that  his  rendering  was  more 
effective  than  a  great  deal  of  the 
"  best  "  singing,  and  he  was  reward- 
ed with  genuine  praises.  Miss  Van 
Braam's  were  not  very  enthusiastic, 
and  yet  they  conveyed  an  impression 
of  restrained  feeling  which  meant 
much  ;  and  Scrope's,  somewhat  over- 
eager  and  voluble  as  they  were,  still 


had  sincerity  enough  in  them  to 
nmke  them  agreeable.  They  pressed 
him  for  another  song,  but  he  excused 
himself,  saying,  as  indeed  his  flushed 
face,  quick  movements,  and  the  evi- 
dent tension  of  his  nerves  plainly 
enough  showed,  that  he  was  easily  ex- 
cited by  music,  and  adding  that  being 
unpractised,  his  fingers  and  his  voice 
in  such  case  quickly  became  uncertain. 
Nobody  would  have  suspected  the 
tall  erect  broad-shouldered  fellow  of 
being  excitable.  But  he  was,  and  the 
more  so  in  proportion  to  the  remote- 
ness and  spirituality  of  the  exciting 
cause  ;  that  is,  more  (for  instance)  by 
music  than  he  would  have  been  by 
gambling  or  by  a  quarrel. 

The  conversation,  which  was  now 
resumed,  became  lively,  Scrope  and 
Chester  exchanging  puns,  jokes  and 
nonsense,  and  Chester  and  Miss  Van 
Braam  finding  that  they  had  preserved 
in  common  many  reminiscences  of 
their  previous  acquaintance  ;  so  that 
the  young  lady  after  a  time,  bethink- 
ing her  of  her  cool  greeting,  was  a  lit- 
tle pained  in  conscience  thereat,  and 
very  prettily  apologized : 

"  My  health  is  poor  this  last  year 
or  two,  since  we  came  to  live  here, 
and  my  head  aches  a  good  deal  of  the 
time,  cousin  Adrian,"  she  said  ;  "  I 
very  often  hardly  know  whether  I  am 
alive.  I  am  having  a  severe  attack 
to-night,  and  if  I  was  rude  to  you  at 
first,  you  will  not  misunderstand  it, 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


25 


will  you?  I  could  hardly  see  or 
stand." 

Chester  hastened  to  make  the  prop- 
er answer ;  and  Scrope  hastened  fur- 
ther to  offer  a  remedy. 

"  Praps  you'd  allow  me  to  cure 
your  edache,"  he  obligingly  suggest- 
ed. "  I've  only  to  lay  my  two  ands 
on  top  of  your  ed  for  a  few  min- 
utes." 

Miss  Van  Braam  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment. But  she  reflected,  how  absurd 
is  that  conventional  idea  that  the 
touch  of  one  human  being  differs  from 
that  of  another  !  And  again,  she  said 
to  herself,  why  should  it  be  any  worse 
than  waltzing  —  or  as  bad,  for  that 
matter  ?  Still,  she  did  not  so  much 
welcome  the  experiment  as  force  her- 
self to  acquiesce  by  reason ;  and  her 
manner  was  a  little  cold  —  as  often 
the  case  with  shy  and  sensitive  peo- 
ple —  as  she  replied  that  she  would 
be  greatly  obliged  to  Mr.  Scrope  if 
he  liked  to  take  so  much  trouble. 

That  gentleman  however,  assuring 
her  that  it  was  no  trouble  but  a  privi- 
lege ("I  should  think  it  was,"  said 
Chester  to  himself  contrasting  the 
features  and  bearing  of  the  English- 
man with  the  pale  and  spiritual  face 
of  the  young  girl),  jumped  up,  and, 
stepping  briskly  to  the  back  of  her 
chair,  laid  his  two  hands  up3n  the  top 
of  her  head. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment 
or  two.  Then  Civille,  who  had  been 
leaning  in  a  tired  way  against  the 
back  of  her  great  stuffed  chair,  sud- 
denly raised  herself,  at  the  same  time 
shaking  her  head  violently,  so  as  to 
free  it  from  the  touch  of  Mr  Scrope's 
hands,  which  indeed  were  almost 
tossed  away  in  the  vivacity  of  the 
rejecting  movement. 

"  Oh  !  I  can't !  you'll  kill  me  !  "she 
exclaimed.  Scrope  of  Scrope  looked 
excessively  displeased,  but  managed  to 


say  he  was  "vewy  sowy,  I'm  sure!" 
and  returned  to  his  seat. 

Civille  suddenly  threw  her  two 
hands  up  to  her  temples,  uttering  a 
low  cry  of  intense  pain,  and  resumed 
her  leaning  attitude,  her  head  thrown 
far  back. 

"  Oh ! "  she  repeated,  as  if  quite 
unable  to  repress  the  voice  of  physical 
anguish. 

To  persons  of  sympathetic  temper- 
ament, and  whose  kindness  is  a  genu- 
ine instinct,  perhaps  no  emotion  is  so 
piercingly  painful  as  to  recognize  the 
suffering  of  another.  Both  Scrope  and 
Chester  had  much  of  this  feeling,  but 
Scrope's  was  a  sense  of  his  own  per- 
sonal discomfort  and  a  good-natured 
readiness  to  help.  Chester,  however, 
at  once  strong  and  sensitive,  possessed 
a  share  very  unusual  for  a  man  of 
those  spiritual  endowments  which  are 
so  little  understood,  and  which  are 
commonly  termed  intuitions.  At  the 
sight  of  the  young  girl's  pain,  he  felt 
it,  with  a  pang  like  a  knife-thrust ;  he 
turned  pale  ;  his  eyes  filled  with  tears  ; 
and  in  his  inexpressible  longing  to  free 
her  from  it,  without  any  distinct  pur- 
pose or  in  fact  consciousness,  his  left 
hand,  which  was  nearest  her,  was  held 
out  towards  her.  With  a  quickness 
like  the  spring  of  an  electric  spark,  she 
seized  it  and  held  it  tight  across  her 
forehead.  Her  slender  fingers  closed 
upon  it  like  iron,  yet  with  a  quiver 
that  revealed  a  frightful  nervous  ten- 
sion. 

"Both  hands  will  be  better,  cousin 
Civille, "  said  Chester,  after  a  moment's 
silence,  and  rising,  he  moved  to  the 
position  that  Scrope  had  occupied, 
shifting  his  left  hand  along  upon  her 
forehead,  and  placing  his  right  hand 
next  it,  so  that  the  fingers'  ends  met 
above  her  eyes,  the  two  hands  forming 
as  it  were  a  band   around  the   whole 


26 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


eyes  closed,  making  no  answer,  except 
a  sigh. 

CHAPTER  V. 

Old  Mr.  Van  Braam  found  stand- 
ing in  his  hall  a  monstrous  fat  vulgar 
oily  looking  red-haired  man  with  a 
vast  face,  of  which  a  terrible  over- 
proportion  had  gravitated  into  an 
elaborate  apparatus  of  double  chins. 
The  old  gentleman,  a  squeamish  and 
delicate  person,  was  about  as  much 
pleased  as  if  he  had  been  visited  by 
a  bone-boiling  establishment;  but 
he  put  on  as  good  a  face  as  possible, 
and  said,  as  civilly  as  he  could, 

"  Did  you  wish  to  see  me,  sir  ?  '*' 

"  Yes  sir,"  promptly  answered  this 
whale  of  a  man,  speaking  in  a  thick 
wheezy  gobbling  voice,  as  if  his  lar- 
ynx operated  from  under  a  pile  of 
half  melted  scrap  tallow,  and  puffing 
as  he  spoke.  "  Sorry  to  trouble  you, 
sir,  but  it  is  necessary."  And 
turning  forwards  the  lapel  of  his 
coat  he  showed  beneath  it  the 
broad  silver  badge  of  the  Detective 
Service.  At  this  corroboration  of 
the  professional  name  on  the  visitor's 
card,  the  old  gentleman  was  more 
annoyed  and  mystified  than  before. 
The  detective's  broad  impassive  coun- 
tenance did  not  change,  and  his  head 
remained  motionless;  hut  his  small 
dull  grayish  eyes  just  turned  from 
Mr.  Van  Braam's  puzzled  face  to  the 
end  of  the  hall  and  back. 

"  Haven't  you  some  little  side  room 
where  we  could  be  quite  alone  for  a 
few  moments  ?  "  he  asked. 

Mr.  Van  Braam,  without  saying  a 
word,  showed  the  way  into  a  small 
waiting-room,  lit  the  gas,  and  handed 
his  visitor  a  seat.  He  waddled  over 
to  a  sofa,  however,  saying  as  he  did  so, 
in  his  fat  wheezing  way, 

'•Thank  ye;  but  I  take  sofys  gin- 
rally  when  I  can  git  um.    Chairs  ain't 


much  'count  for  a  man  o'  my  build, 
anyway." 

The  discomfort  of  the  old  gentle- 
man arose  to  an  extreme,  as  he  sat 
waiting  for  this  vast  greasy  man  to 
reveal  whatever  horror  there  might  be. 
But  his  conjectures  were  most  wild. 
His  own  accounts  and  papers  —  he  was, 
through  the  influence  of  Mr.  Tarbox 
Button,  Secretary  of  the  Splosh  Fire 
Insurance  Company  —  he  knew  were 
correct.  But  had  some  defalcation 
been  discovered  in  the  office  ?  Had 
either  of  his' two  servant-girls  been 
caught  in  any  evil-doing?  Had  his 
solitary  old  dwelling  been  marked 
down  by  burglars,  and  was  he  to  be 
prepared  for  their  coming  ?  He  strove 
in  vain  to  imagine  what  the  mystery 
might  be.  In  a  thousand  years,  how- 
ever, strive  as  he  might,  the  poor  old 
gentleman  would  never  have  dreamed 
of  what  would  be  implied  in  the  very 
first  words  of  the  vast  fat  man.  who 
after  divers  signs  of  reluctance,  broke 
out,  with  a  clumsy  abruptness  where 
he  had  meant  to  begin  from  afar  off — 
"  Is  your  daughter's  health  good?  " 
Mr.  Van  Braam  started,  and  looked 
at  the  detective  with  a  blank  as- 
tounded face,  whiter,  if  possible,  than 
usual;  his  mouth  open,  without  a 
word.  The  officer  instantly  saw  that 
the  old  man,  far  more  sensitive  than 
he  had  imagined,  had  received  one  of 
those  shocks  which  for  the  moment 
annihilate  all  consciousness.  Dis- 
comfited, he  could  only  wait.  In  a 
few  minutes,  his  host  had  somewhat 
recovered.  The  detective,  rough  po- 
lice officer  as  he  was,  was  no  brute, 
and  he  instantly  decided  upon  what 
he  saw  was  the  only  possible  method 
with  such  nervous  subjects ;  for,  he 
reflected,  if  the  old  gentleman  is  this 
way,  what  must  the  young  lady  be  ? 
It  was  very  important,  he  also  remem- 
bered that  he  had  been  told  at  head- 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library.. 


27 


quarters  in  Mulberry  Street,  on  ac- 
count of  the  very  great  respectability 
of  the  parties  interested,  that  no  more 
annoyance  should  be  caused  to  any 
one,  than  was  absolutely  unavoidable, 
and  that  every  thing  should  be  man- 
aged in  the  most  quiet  possible  manner. 
"I'll  take  the  line  of  not  believing  a 
word  of  it,"  said  the  officer  to  himself, 
"and  of  acting  on  their  side  entirely." 
Accordingly,  when  he  saw  that  the 
old  man  was  in  a  situation  to  hear 
what  was  said  to  him,  he  began 
again  : 

"Ther  ain't  no  casion  to  be  troubled, 
Mr.  Van  Braam.  No  charges  is  made, 
and  ther  ain't  no  reason  why  ther 
should  be.  Fact  is,  I  spose  I  might 
jest  as  well  a  sent  the  doctor  as  come 
myself." 

"  I'm  not  very  strong,"  interrupted 
the  old  man,  faintly,  but  gaining  a 
desperate  angry  courage  as  he  went 
on,  "and  she's  my  only  child.  I  can't 
stand  this  long.  For  God  Almigh- 
ty's sake  do  be  quick.  Out  with  it. 
Why  the  devil  don't  you  tell  me  what's 
the  matter  without  toasting  me  in 
hell  like  that  for  an  hour  ?  " 

"  You're  right,  sir,"  said  the  man, 
without  showing  any  ill  humor  —  and 
indeed  why  should  he  ?  —  "I  will. 
Certain  parties  has  intimated  that 
Miss  Van  Braam,  bein  delicate,  and 
a  little  out  of  her  head  like,  had  acci- 
dentally carried  away  a  small  passel 
o'  lace  from  Jenks  and  Trainor's  yes- 
terday. Now  it's  very  likely  she 
ain't  got  it.  Ef  she  has,  of  course 
she  only  took  it  by  oversight.  And 
there's  no  disposition  to  make  trouble. 
What's  wanted  is  to  prevent  it. 
They's  some  parties  that  would  be  very 
troublesome  in  sech  cases.  Jenks  and 
Trainor  've  ben  plegged  to  death 
a'most  with  this  kinder  thing  now  for 
near  onto  a  year,  and  they're  out  of 
all  patience.     But  all  that's  necessary 


is  to  jest  oversee  the  young  lady 
quietly,  and  sorter  let  on  in  her  hear- 
in  about  some  o'these  kleptermaniacs 
bein  took  up,  and  it's  goin  ruther  hard 
with  'em." 

The  long  word  which  the  detective 
evoked  from  the  domains  of  modern 
sentimental  criminality  —  or  criminal 
sentimentality,  —  and  which  he  flour- 
ished with  an  evident  pride,  like  a 
strong  man  whirling  a  heavy  Indian 
club,  to  show  how  easily  he  can  do  it, 
was  the  first  out  of  all  this  singu- 
larly horrible  discourse,  that  at  all 
enlightened  the  shocked  and  con- 
founded auditor.  But  when  it  came, 
it  was  enough.  His  anger  disap- 
peared as  quickly  as  it  had  arisen, 
and  an  inexpressible  sinking  pain 
came  in  its  stead.  If  any  one  can 
comprehend  the  terror,  the  agony,  of 
a  man  who  loves,  who  has  but  one  to 
love,  and  who  is  old ;  of  a  father  who 
sees  his  daughter,  his  only  beloved, 
and  the  desire  of  his  eyes,  not  merely 
suffering,  not  merely  in  sorrow,  but 
in  danger  of  becoming  the  very  scan- 
dal and  sport  of  the  dirtiest  of  pub- 
lics —  that  of  a  great  city  —  who  sees 
her  certainly  ill,  possibly  monoma- 
niac, and  at  the  parting  of  the  two 
ways  that  lead  to  the  mad-house  or  to 
the  police  station  —  if  any  one  can 
imagine  the  sharp  deep  misery  of 
such  a  prospect,  the  hint  of  it  is  even 
too  much ;  and  for  any  one  who  can- 
not, a  library  of  detail  could  not  paint 
it. 

But  the  external  signs  of  the  pain 
that  evil  news  inflicts,  are  seldom  so 
marked  as  is  often  supposed.  And 
persons  whose  characters  are  strong 
by  nature,  or  solidified  by  hard  expe- 
riences of  life,  are  more  likely  to  seem 
impassible  even,  than  to  show  what 
they  feel.  Age,  again,  often  contrib- 
utes a  real  insensibilit}',  which  is  per- 
haps the  unconscious  acquirement  of 


28 


Scrape 


The  Lost  Library. 


the  soul  from  whose  relations  with 
material  and  embodied  existence 
threads  are  already  beginning  to  un- 
fasten. Mr.  Van  Braam,  as  a  person 
of  even  spiritually  delicate  organiza- 
tion both  physically  and  mentally, 
was  as  easily  startled,  old  man  as  he 
had  become,  as  any  wild  bird.  So  he 
would  soon  have  fainted  under  sharp 
physical  pain.  But  neither  of  these 
weaknesses  belonged  to  his  mind,  any 
more  than  delicate  lungs  would  be- 
long to  his  mind.  Accordingly,  al- 
though the  experienced  detective  had 
correctly  judged  by  the  physical 
symptoms,that  his  suggestion  inflicted 
a  fearful  shock  at  first,  yet  he  was 
surprised  at  the  promptness  with 
which  the  distress  was  mastered,  and 
the  degree  of  steadiness  with  which 
the  trouble  was  faced,  by  this  white 
and  slender  old  man. 

"Weil,  Mr.  Officer,"  he  said,  "you 
have  done  right  to  come  to  me.  It  is 
the  first  hint  I  have  heard,  of  course. 
My  daughter's  health  is  not  very 
strong,  it  is  true"  — 

Here  it  suddenly  struck  him  that 
the  best  thing  he  could  do  was  to  let 
her  condition  seem  bad  rather  than 
good.  Evidently  if  the  persons  con- 
cerned in  this  demonstration  were  — 
as  they  were  said  to  be  —  inclined  to 
avoid  exposure  if  the  annoyance 
should  cease,  the  best  way  to  co-oper- 
ate with  them  was  to  promise  the  su- 
pervision suggested,  and  to  acquiesce 
in  the  necessity  of  it.  Evidently,  also, 
to  talk  big  and  be  indignant  and 
threaten,  would  be  to  insure  a  scan- 
dal. All  this  Mr.  Van  Braam  saw, 
not  by  wording  it  over  at  such  length, 
but  at  one  flash,  in  the  instant's  pause 
as  he  said  "  true  "  —  and  he  went  on  : 

—  "and  I  have  been  a  good  deal 
troubled  at  some  of  her  symptoms 
and  some  of  her  actions.  But  it  is 
equally  important  that  a  careful  watch 


should  be  kept,  whether  or  not  she  is 
as  badly  off  as  the  gentlemen  at  your 
office  seem  to  think.  I  will  do  my 
best ;  and  if  you  employ  some  one,  so 
much  the  better;  only  she  mustn't 
know  it." 

Some  consultation  now  followed  as 
to  the  sort  of  arrangement  to  be 
made :  it  was  decided  that  a  quiet 
and  unobtrusive  observation  should 
be  maintained  by  the  police ;  and 
that  some  reason  or  other  should  be 
found  for  discontinuing  or  at  least 
diminishing,  even  the  very  modest 
actual  indulgences  of  the  young  lady 
in  what  is  called  "shopping."  And 
the  officer  further  guaranteed  that,  if 
as  he  hoped  (he  said  it  with  obvious 
sincerity),  there  was  only  a  mistake, 
not  another  word  should  be  heard 
about  it  by  Mr.  Van  Braam  or  by 
anybody.  And  so  the  fat  detective, 
—  a  singularly  unsuitable  person, 
Mr.  Van  Braam  couldn't  help  think- 
ing, physically  at  least,  for  such  a 
profession  —  waddled  away. 

After  seeing  him  to  the  door,  Mr. 
Van  Braam  returned  to  the  parlor. 
His  distress  was  so  great,  the  effort  to 
control  it  was  becoming  such  a  strain, 
and  the  irritability  that  in  such  tem- 
peraments as  his  always  accompanies 
displeasure,  was  rising  so  fast  and  so 
strongly  within  him,  that  courteous 
gentleman  as  he  naturally  and  habitu- 
ally was,  he  was  strongly  tempted  to 
hustle  the  two  young  men  instantly 
out  of  the  house  on  any  or  no  pretence 
except  that  they  must  begone. 

He  only  came  quietly  in,  however, 
resumed  his  seat ;  and  began  mechan- 
ically to  turn  over  his  papers.  He 
said  not  a  word.  He  did  not  notice, 
in  the  whirl  of  his  perplexed 
thoughts,  the  sense  of  monstrous 
evil,  the  violent  struggle  to  control 
himself,  that  his  daughter  seemed  to 
be   asleep   and   that  the  two  young 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


29 


men  were  sitting  as  silent  as  she  — 
for  Chester,  after  a  little  while,  had 
quietly  resumed  his  seat  without  any 
motion  or  resistance  from  Miss  Van 
Braam.  But  they  both  saw  that 
something  was  wrong,  the  moment  he 
entered;  and  as  he  still  turned  and 
turned  his  papers  mechanically,  Ches- 
ter, seeing  what  was  proper,  looked  at 
his  watch,  exclaimed  at  the  lateness 
of  the  hour,  and  arose  to  go.  Scrope 
of  Scrope,  with  creditable  promptness, 
followed  his  example.  The  old  man, 
arousing  himself,  gave  them  a  very 
genuine  invitation  to  call  again  and 
as  often  as  they  pleased,  on  the  foot- 
ing, indeed,  he  said,  of  well-acquaint- 
ed cousins. 

"Why,  Civille,"  he  exclaimed  all 
at  once  ;  "  are  you  going  to  let  our 
friends  go  without  saying  a  word  ?  — 
I  do  believe  she's  sound  asleep  !"  he 
continued,  as  she  did  not  reply.  He 
lifted  the  shade  from  the  drop-light 
on  the  table  and  stepped  over  to  her. 
She  was  perfectly  still,  her  white 
teeth  just  showing  between  her  lips, 
her  head  resting  easily  on  the  back  of 
•the  chair,  and  breathing  quietly  and 
regularly. 

"  Why,  Civille,  my  child ! »  he  said, 
laying  his  hand  on  her  shoulder; 
"  You  do  make  your  cousins  very 
much  at  home,  I  think  !  "  And  he 
shook  her  a  little. 

Chester  spoke. 

"  Mr.  Van  Braam,"  he  said,  with 
embarrassment,  "  I'm  afraid  it's  my 
fault.  I  never  did  such  a  thing 
before,  but  I  think  I  put  her  asleep. 
I  did  not  know  it  either,  if  it  is 
so." 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  in 
amazement.  Chester  then  told  him 
just  what  he  had  done,  and  that  they 
had  been  sitting  in  silence  not  know- 
ing whether  she  ware  awake  and  in 
pain  or  asleep  and  therefore  relieved, 


but  supposing  that  quiet  was  kindest 
in  either  case. 

Still  with  a  confused  look,  Mr.  Van 
Braam  observed,  "  Asleep  ?  put  her 
asleep  ?  " 

"  Magnetized,"  said  Chester;  "let 
me  make  some  reversed  passes.  I've 
seen  them  do  that;  if  I  did  put  her 
asleep,  I  can  awaken  her,  at  any 
rate." 

And  holding  his  hands  palms  down- 
ward and  flat,  with  the  fingers  to- 
wards her  chin,  he  lifted  them  rap- 
idly past  her  face,  throwing  them 
apart  above  her  forehead  as  if  lifting 
and  flinging  back  a  veil.  Half-a-doz- 
en times  he  repeated  the  gesture,  and 
paused.  "Civille!"  called  the  old 
man.  They  saw  the  pencilled  eye- 
brows lift  a  little,  as  if  in  repeated 
efforts  to  open  the  eyes  ;  a  distressed 
look  tame  over  the  face  :  and  one  fin- 
ger of  the  hand  that  rested  uppermost 
in  her  lap,  moved  in  an  odd  restless 
way. 

Again  Chester  made  the  "reversed 
passes,"  saying  at  the  last  one,  in  a 
peremptory  voice,  "  There ;  wake 
up ! " 

So  she  did  ;  opening  her  great  gray 
eyes  wide,  with  an  innocent  puzzled 
look  like  a  child's. 

"Why,  what  is  it?"  she  asked, 
startled  at  the  three  anxious  faces 
gazing  so  intently  at  her.  "  Oh,  — 
Cousin  Adrian,  you  put  me  asleep, 
didn't  you  ?  " 

"  It  appears  so,"  said  the  young 
man,  gravely.  "  But  I  did  not  mean 
to.  '  I  wanted  to  relieve  your  head- 
ache." 

"You  did.  It's  all  gone.  But 
my  head  is  so  sore  !  It  feels  as  if  it 
had  been  pounded  all  over!  But 
that's  nothing.     Oh,  thank  you  !  " 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  with  a  troubled 
voice,  —  "  but  please  don't  have  any 
such  pain  again  !  " 


30 


What  the   Oak  Thinks. 


She  smiled  quietly.  "I  shall 
though,  often  enough  !  But  I  will  try- 
not  to  trouble  you  with  it." 

"If  I  can  cure  it,  cousin  Civille, 
please  always  trouble  me  with  it ! " 

As  they  shook  hands  at  going, 
Chester  drew  Mr.  Van  Braam  one 
side,  saying,  just  loud  enough  for  the 
others  to  hear, 

"About  this  meeting,"  —  and  then 


dropping  his  voice,  he  quietly  slid  a 
card  into  the  old  man's  hand,  adding, 
below  his  breath, 

"I  thought  you  might  perhaps  not 
choose  anybody  else  to  see  this  ;  I 
picked  it  up  from  the  floor." 

It  was  the  detective's  card ;  not 
engraved,  but  having  on  it  in  a  suffi- 
ciently legible  hand-writing,  the 
words,  "  Amos  Olds,  Detective." 


PART  IL 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  No  one  can  know,"  said  Mrs.  Tar- 
box  Button  with  deep  feeling,  and  a 
suitable  separate  emphasis  on  each 
word  —  "  no  one  can  know  what  Per- 
fect Happiness  is,  until  they  have 
attended  a  Female  Prayer-Meeting. 
Of  course  I  shall  be  there,  and  Anje- 
sinthy  too,  Doctor  Toomston.  I  have 
been  there,  and  still  would  go,  For 
'tis  a  little  heaven  below." 

"  And  you  too  then,  let  me  hope, 
my  dear  young  Female  Timothy,  my 
example  of  the  believers.  You  will 
accompany  your  good  mother,  thy 
mother  Eunice  ?" 

Thus  asked  further  the  Reverend 
Doctor  Toomston  of  Miss  Ann  Ja- 
cintha  Button  —  the  "Anjesinthy" 
of  the  first  speaker  above,  who  always 
gave  her  daughter  both  names.  He 
asked  the  question,  —  no,  he  did  not 
so  much  ask,  or  speak,  as  utter.  He 
uttered  this  overture  —  the  Doctor 
was  a  Presbyterian  —  with  his  inva- 
riable majestic  manner,  and  with  the 
same  forth-putting,  roomy  articula- 
tion as  if  he  had  been  speaking  from 
what  he  always  called  "  the  sacred 
desk."  He  always  spoke  from  the 
sacred  desk,  even  if  he  were  talking 
to  a  baby.  He  had  the  sacred  desk, 
in  fact,  as  the  slang  phrase  is,  "about 


his  clothes;"  indeed,  nearer  still. 
He  walked  abroad  in  the  sacred  desk  ; 
he  slept  in  it ;  if  he  had  been  stripped 
to  the  skin  and  forced  to  dance  a 
death-dance  by  the  Modoc  Indians, 
he  would  have  danced  it  in  the  sacred 
desk. 

"  Oh  yes  indeed,  Doctor,"  replied 
the  young  lady.  "  I  feel  it  a  great 
privilege." 

They  have  in  theatres  what  they 
call  the  Leading  Lady.  She  is  the 
chief  actress,  who  does  the  heavy  her- 
oine business,  such  as  queens'  parts. 
So  they  have  in  churches.  Mrs. 
Tarbox  Button  was  the  leading  lady 
in  the  Reverend  Doctor  Toomston's 
church. 

Churches  are  in  some  things  a 
good  deal  like  some  other  institutions 
composed  of  human  beings.  There 
are  things  to  be  done,  people  to  do 
them,  and  people  to  take  charge  of 
doing  them.  And  as  in  politics,  it  is 
very  commonly  the  case  that  there  is 
an  official  organization  to  stand  up 
and  look  well,  and  by  the  side  of  it 
or  mingled  with  it,  informal  powers 
that  do  a. great  part  of  what  is  to  be 
done. 

In  a  church,  there  is  the  regular 
course  of  obligatory  religious  observ- 
ances proper,  and  there  is  also  a  semi- 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


31 


official  and  semi-temporal  series  close- 
ly parallel  with  this ;  and  there  is 
besides  these,  —  in  large  cities  par- 
ticularly,—  what  may  be  called  the 
optional  or  volunteer  course.  The 
stated  preaching  of  the  Gospel  is  the 
regular  course.  Along  with  it,  it  is 
true,  goes  the  "Worship  of  God,  which 
Protestants  have  been  so  good  as  to 
admit  to  a  place  in  their  religious 
rites  only  inferior  to  that  occupied  by 
the  Sermon.  And  the  Sunday  School 
belongs  in  this  series.  The  semi-offi- 
cial and  semi-temporal  series  includes 
the  business  meetings  of  the  church; 
the  week-day  prayer-meeting;  the 
teachers'  meeting;  the  rehearsal  by 
the  choir  ;  and  the  like.  And  the  op- 
tional or  volunteer  course  includes  any 
charity  schools,  sewing  societies,  or- 
ganized helps  for  the  poor  or  afflicted, 
picnics  and  parties  for  the  Sunday 
School  children,  donation  parties ;  — 
in  short  the  charity  and  amusement 
department,  being  pretty  much  all 
that  gives  enjoyment  or  relieves  suf- 
fering. 

The  minister  and  his  officials,  — 
deacons,  ruling  elder,  treasurer  of  the 
society,  or  what  not,  along  with  the 
chief  musician  and  Sunday-school  su- 
perintendent,—  govern  for  the  most 
part  the  two  former  of  these  three  cur- 
rents of  action  and  influence.  The 
ladies  of  the  church  commonly  conduct 
the  third,  under  a  more  or  less  definite 
chieftainship  by  the  Leading  Lady, 
and  with  whatever  recourse  they  may 
wish  or  can  obtain  to  the  purses  and 
counsels  of  their  husbands  and  fathers. 
Be  it  understood  always,  moreover, 
that  according  to  strength  and  wisdom, 
the  ladies  use  more  or  less  of  in- 
fluence in  the  two  other  departments 
of  church  activity  also. 

Mr.  Tarbox  Button  was  the  richest 
man  in  Doctor  Toomston's  church, 
and  the  most  energetic,  practical  and 


efficient  also.  In  fact,  he  had  been 
the  chief  agent  in  bringing  this  sound 
conservative  divine  to  the  city,  and 
in  the  whole  strenuous  and  laborious 
campaign  which  established  the 
church.  He  was  the  Doctor's  right 
hand  man,  his  tower  of  strength  and 
unfailing  resource  in  every  strait. 
And  Mrs.  Button,  a  shrewd,  hard- 
working New  England  woman,  forti- 
fied always  by  the  counsels  of  her 
experienced  spouse,  was  at  once  the 
Doctor's  chief  stay  and  support  and 
her  husband's  powerful  and  successful 
auxiliary  in  all  church  matters,  as 
she  was  in  all  social  matters  also. 
The  distinction  exists,  the  fact  is,  in 
American  religious  circles,  only  after 
the  wholly  imaginary  manner  of  those 
estates  which  lawyers  call  "one  un- 
divided half." 

Among  all  the  good  works  which 
were  so  remarkable  a  feature  of  this 
well  known  metropolitan  church  (as 
the  newspapers  called  it),  it  was  of 
course  that  one  and  another  should  be 
engineered  by  one  and  another  chief 
executive.  It  will  be  found  that  in 
Sewing  Societies,  Flower  Missions 
and  Companies  for  Executing  Class- 
ical Music  to  the  Afflicted,  as  much 
as  in  insurance  companies,  associ- 
ations for  recovering  estates  in  Eng- 
land, civil  governments  or  war  ad- 
ministrations, the  successful  ones  pro- 
ceed on  the  principle  of  having  one 
executive  to  do  things,  and  a  board  or 
chorus  or  ministry  to  consult,  indorse, 
help  along  and  keep  watch.  Thus  it 
was  in  Doctor  Toomston's  church. 
The  Doctor  was  a  thoroughly  good  and 
kind  hearted  man,  a  regular  old-fash- 
ioned verbal  inspirationist  and  textual 
preacher,  a  strict  orthodox  Calvinist,  a 
well  read  theologian,  and  a  steady  ser- 
monizer,  good  for  ninety  honest  new 
sermons  every  year  (deduct  two 
months'    summer  vacation,  and    you 


32 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


have  left  forty-four  "  Sabbaths  "  —  as 
he  called  them, — to  which  add  Fast 
and  Thanksgiving,  at  one  discourse 
each)  ;  but  he  did  not  know  this  prac- 
tical rule  so  as  to  state  it,  nor  per- 
haps did  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Button  ;  but 
things  took  that  shape  simply  be- 
cause these  able  managers  had1  that 
unconscious  faculty  of  complying  with 
the  universe  which  constitutes  "  tact 
and  sense  in  getting  along." 

Mrs.  Button,  accordingly,  was  often 
consulted  by  the  executive  ladies  of 
all  the  beneficent  enterprises  of  the 
church,  and  she  was  wise  enough  to 
let  them  use  her  advice  while  she 
kept  out  of  sight ;  it  was  the  power 
that  she  liked,  not  the  show.  She 
had  also  her  own  pet  or  predilection 
among  these,  which  she  along  with 
her  Anjesinthy  managed  pretty  much 
as  they  pleased,  but  always  with  the 
same  dexterous  deferential  treatment 
of  the  other  members  of  their  board. 
This  pet  or  predilection  was  called  by 
the  pretty  fanciful  name  of  The 
Shadowing  Wings.  It  was  a  little  in- 
stitution established  in  a  poor  quarter 
of  the  city,  which  abounded  in  tene- 
ment houses,  surplus  sewerage,  piles 
of  tilth,  evil  smells,  rum-shops,  and 
small  dirty  children,  and  not  very  far 
from  the  high-lying  and  airy  cross 
street  on  Murray  Hill  where  Mr. 
Button  inhabited  a  stately  undistin- 
guishable  slice  of  a  long  row  of  brown 
stone  front  houses  exactly  alike. 

The  Shadowing  Wings  included  two 
—  wings,  so  to  speak;  being  indeed 
the  usual  number,  and  as  few  as  the 
plural  will  justify.  One  was  for  sup- 
plying to  needy  mothers  having  new 
born  children,  what  the  French  call  a 
layette.  The  other  was  what  the 
French  call  —  really,  it  seems  as  if 
those  benighted  Romanists  had  invent- 
ed some  handy  names,  destitute  as 
they  may  be  of  a  pure  Gospel  —  what 


the  French  call  a  creche  /  a  neat  little 
room  or  two  where  mothers  too  needy 
to  lose  their  days'  works  might  leave 
their  little  babies  under  competent 
care  during  the  day-time.  The  two 
ladies  were  on  their  way  to  The  Shad- 
owing Wings,  when  they  met  Doctor 
Toomston,  and  answered  his  inquiry 
about  the  female  prayer-meeting  for 
the  week,  as  aforementioned.  This 
done,  the  pastor  and  the  ladies  parted, 
the  doctor  to  go  about  some  clerical 
errand,  the  ladies  to  their  ordinary 
Wednesday's  inspection  at  The  Shad- 
owing Wings. 

Deftly  they  went,  tiptoeing  along 
as  every  well-dressed  Christian  must 
among  the  dirt  and  wet  of  this  world, 
their  neatly  gloved  hands  holding 
their  embroidered  white  skirts  care- 
fully up  from  contact  with  the  various 
unclean  things  by  the  way.  Over  the 
ill-cleaned  gutters  of  the  Third  Ave- 
nue they  tripped,  and  then  through  a 
terrible  Thermopylae  where  the  wide 
double  sliding  doors  of  a  great  livery- 
stable  gaped  upon  a  cobble-stoned 
break  in  the  sidewalk,  and  a  sloping 
gulf  yawned  below,  leading  to  the 
basement  where  horses  stamped  and 
whinnied.  A  "  bret "  and  a  buggy  were 
paraded  before  the  door,  while  a  red 
shirted  hostler  with  a  pipe  in  his 
mouth  swashed  and  squirted  Croton 
water,  in  utter  defiance  of  the  city 
ordinances,  from  a  hose,  over  the  vehi- 
cles and  all  about  them.  Close  to 
the  street  edge  of  this  perilous  way 
were  crowded  a  great  red-wheeled 
furniture  van  and  a  truck ;  and 
the  reek  of  horses  and  harnesses  and 
all  things  horsy,  with  the  mighty  in- 
cense of  the  groom's  tobacco  float- 
ing upon  it  like  wreaths  upon  a  river, 
seethed  in  the  place,  a  very  Phlege- 
thon  of  smell. 

Past  this  and  other  equally  noble 
street  monuments  of  American  civic 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


33 


civilization,  the  unterrified  ladies  pro- 
ceeded on  their  errand  of  mercy,  until 
they  reached  the  humble  doors  of  The 
Shadowing  Wings,  which  for  the  time 
being  were  outspread  in  the  second 
floor  of  a  great  brick  tenement  block. 
It  was  a  most  suitable  place ;  for  it 
was  one  of  those  localities  where  in 
summer  time  it  seems  as  if  the  very 
substance  of  the  immense  edifice 
crawled  with  children,  as  cheese  does 
with  mites.  They  are  heaps  upon 
heaps,  in  doorways  and  entries ;  they 
squeal  and  chatter  out  of  every  win- 
dow; they  overflow  upon  the  side- 
walk, into  the  black  sloppy  filth  of 
the  cobble-stoned  street  itself;  the 
very  air  is  one  screeching  din  of  sharp 
childish  voices. 

Even  now  a  good  many  of  them 
were  playing  about  in  the  chilly  win- 
try sunshine.  None  of  them  how- 
ever paid  any  attention  to  the  two 
ladies,  except  to  move  —  a  little  —  to 
let  them  pass.  The  attention  business, 
and  the  penny-begging  business,  had 
long  ago  been  tried  upon  them  to  the 
uttermost.  As  soon  take  Gibraltar 
by  casting  cut  flowers  at  it.  Both 
ladies  were  principled  against  giving 
money  in  the  street,  and  against  en- 
couraging street  childhood  at  all ;  for 
they  were  of  that  healthy  and  severe 
New  England  training,  which  justly 
reckons  the  receipt  of  charity  always 
a  misfortune  and  commonly  a  shame, 
and  begging  a  crime  ;  and  they  knew 
that  children  should  be  either  at  home 
or  at  school.  Still,  if  they  had  been 
very  fond  of  little  children  some 
would  have  run  along  with  them, 
dirty  or  not  dirty.  But  they  kept 
them  off  without  the  least  difficulty, 
and  went  upstairs  to  the  rooms. 

As  they  opened  the  door  an  infant's 
screech,  coming  out,  met  them,  and  a 
voice  said,  "  Give  me  the  dear  little 
thing,  doctor.    I  can  quiet  it." 


"  I  declare,"  observed  Miss  Button 
to  her  mother,  stopping  short  with 
her  hand  on  the  door-knob,  "I  dc 
believe   Civille  Van   Braam  lives  in 


these  rooms  !     Adrian  sha'n't 


her 


here,  anyhow !  "  She  spoke  in  a  low 
voice,  and  with  obvious  discomfort  or 
displeasure,  over  and  above  the  inti- 
mation of  jealousy  —  if  jealousy  it 
were  —  as  much  as  to  say,  I'm  sure  I 
don't  want  to  see  her ! 

"  Oh,  never  mind,"  answered  Mrs. 
Button,  adding,  with  evident  refer- 
ence to  some  previous  consultation  or 
discussion  as  to  something  that  might 
be  supposed  to  change  their  previous - 
relations,  "we  are  to  meet  her  jest 
the  same,  you  know."  Then,  as  if 
enforcing  a  moral  lesson  from  a.  fact 
in  point,  she  said,  with  serious  em- 
phasis, "  And  by  the  way  —  remem- 
ber that,  too,  Anjesinthy!  Tain't 
right  to  set  in  judgment  on  your 
neighbor." 

"Yes,  ma,"  said  the  young  lady, 
and  they  went  in. 

"Good  morning,  cousin,"  said  Ci- 
ville smiling,  "  and  good  morning 
cousin  Ann."  "  And  good  morning, 
ladies,"  said  a  comfortable  looking 
gentleman  in  black,  with  a  hand- 
some smiling  face  a  good  deal  like 
that  of  Sir  Edwin  Landseer  in  the 
portrait  of  him  along  with  two  dogs, 
who  was  watching  with  much  satis- 
faction the  dexterous  manner  in 
which  Miss  Civille  handled  a  very 
young  child  that  lay  kicking  and 
crowing  in  her  lap  while  she  tickled 
it  and  laughed  to  it  and  cooed  over  it, 
and  kissed  it.  This  gentleman  was 
Doctor  Codleigh  Veroil,  Medical  Ad- 
viser of  the  Shadowing  Wings,  family 
physician  at  Mr.  Tarbox  Button's  and 
a  regular  and  punctual  and  seriously 
interested  attendant  upon  the  stated 
preaching  of  the  gospel  at  Dr.  Toom- 
ston's  church,  although,  to  the  great 


34 


Scrope 


o,\ 


The  Lost  Library. 


grief  of  the  good  pastor,  the  physician 
was  not  what  he  was  wont  to  call 
"  a  professor." 

Mrs.  Button  and  her  daughter  re- 
sponded with  affability  to  these  greet- 
ings, and  the  elder  lady,  as  was  her 
custom,  went  straight  to  the  business 
in  hand.  The  premises  were  four 
rooms,  forming  a  single  suite  from 
front  to  rear  of  the  building. 

There  is  a  certain  creature  of  which 
naturalists  tell  us,  having  gregarious 
habits,  and  often  found  to  construct 
for  itself  a  kind  of  comb,  somewhat 
resembling  that  of  the  honey-bee. 
But  the  cells  of  this  comb,  instead  of 
storerooms,  are  dwelling*,  which  the 
ingenious  and  social  occupants  in- 
habit, forming  an  aggregate  not  un- 
like that  of  the  social  grosbeak  in  its 
great  collective  nest.  The  separate- 
ness  of  the  cells  and  the  disconnected 
individual  growth  of  the  creatures 
distinguishes  them  from  the  coral  in- 
sect. The  form  and  arrangement  of 
these  cells  is  commonly  either  a  pile  of 
square  tubes  somewhat  on  the  caddis- 
worm  principle,  laid  upon  and  next 
ea  m  other  like  sticks  in  a  wood  pile, 
and  penetrable  from  end  to  end,  or 
else  of  half-tubes  piled  in  the  same 
way,  but  shut  apart  in  the  middle. 
The  creatures  are  men  and  women. 
The  tubes  are  the  four-room  tene- 
ments that  run  through  a  tenement- 
house  from  front  to  rear,  the  front  and 
back  rooms  open  by  windows  to  the 
air,  the  two  middle  ones  dark  and 
airless,  except  so  far  as  the  doorways 
admit  light  and  ventilation  from  the 
end  rooms.  The  half  tubes  are  the 
two-room  or  three-room  tenements  of 
which  twice  as  many  will  fill  the 
same  space.  And  these  tubes  are  the 
homes  of  tens  of  thousands  in  New 
York  City  alone.  One  of  these  tubes, 
with  its  four  compartments,  was  oc- 
cupied  by  The    Shadowing   Wings. 


Its  back  room  looked  towards  the 
south,  though  this  south  was  only  a 
great  pit  or  Yosemite  Valley  with  brick 
sides,  full  of  clothes-lines  laden  with 
damp  linen.  But  a  little  sunshine 
managed  to  dodge  in  now  and  then, 
past  the  napping  wet  sheets  and 
shirts,  like  a  spy  escaping  through 
the  besiegers'  lines  into  a  fortress  ; 
while  the  front  windows  that  looked 
into  the  street  never  received  any 
direct  light  at  all. 

In  this  back  room  were  eight  or 
ten  cribs,  numbered  in  order,  and 
neatly  arranged  in  two  rows.  In 
each  of  them,  all  but  one,  whose  tiny 
tenant  was  just  then  in  Civille's  lap, 
lay  an  infant,  having  at  its  neck,  for 
fear  of  mistakes,  a  printed  ticket  or 
"  address  tag,"  bearing  the  number 
of  the  crib.  Each  parent  at  leaving 
the  child,  was  accustomed  to  receive 
a  similar  ticket,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  On  demand  we  promise  to  pay  One 
Baby,  Value  Received.  Shadowing 
Wings  ; "  and  on  the  presentation 
of  this  duplicate  —  for  after  all  it 
was  perhaps  more  like  a  pawn-brok- 
er's duplicate  than  a  note  of  hand  — 
the  mother  could  obtain  her  baby 
again,  free  from  any  danger  of  mis- 
takes in  consequence  of  deficiency  in 
maternal  instinct  or  "  unnatural  se- 
lection." These  ticketed  mites  of 
humanity  were  sleeping,  or  wailing, 
or  lying  broad  awake  with  the  cloudy 
looking  eyes  and  deceptive  aspect  of 
profound  reflection  which  belong  to 
early  infancy.  A  couple  of  respecta- 
ble looking  women  were  in  charge, 
being  the  official  nurses  or  guardians 
of  the  establishment.  The  front 
room  was  occupied  by  these  nurses, 
and  the  two  inner  rooms  were  store- 
rooms. First  of  all,  Mrs.  Button  and 
her  daughter  marched  gravely  through 
from  rear  to  front  of  the  whole  tene- 
ment, sharply  scrutinizing  floor,  walls, 


Set 


ope 


The  Lost  Library. 


ceilings,  shelves,  piles  of  minute  gar- 
ments, every  thing.  Then  they  came 
back,  and  with  the  same  strict  house- 
keeper's watchfulness,  they  inspected 
every  cradle,  lifting  the  small  bed- 
clothes, peeping  into  the  tiny  face  of 
each  occupant,  and  into  all  sorts  of 
places  besides,  and  viewing,  uncorking 
and  smelling  with  special  and  peculiar 
solicitude  divers  flat  glass  bottles 
whereof  each  was  surmounted  with  a 
thing  capable  of  easy  entrance  into 
the  mouth  of  infancy,  and  some  con- 
tained a  white  fluid.  Then  Mrs. 
Button  catechised  the  nurses  shrewd- 
ly and  thoroughly.  Every  thing  was 
right,  every  thing  clean  and  sweet 
and  in  good  order.  So  in  truth  it 
behooved  to  be,  under  the  rule  of  that 
forceful  and  stringent  woman. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  the  popu- 
larity of  The  Shadowing  Wings  had 
been  greatly  increasing,  and  of  late 
the  demands  upon  it  were  so  many 
that  it  was  obvious  that  it  must  en- 
barge  its  borders.  Upon  this  very 
Wednesday,  in  fact,  a  meeting  of  the 
Board  was  notified  to  consider  the 
matter.  So,  by  the  time  that  Mrs. 
Button's  inspection  was  finished,  di- 
vers ladies  of  the  Board  arrived,  and 
a  business  meeting  was  organized  in 
the  front  room,  Civille,  whose  sole 
office  whether  of  trust  or  emolument 
was  a  place  in  this  board,  going  in  too, 
still  with  her  little  live  plaything  in 
her  lap.  Doctor  Veroil,  also  by  re- 
quest, attended  on  this  occasion  as 
advising  member  or  amicus  curice. 

"  The  meeting  will  please  to  come  to 
order,"  said  Mrs.  President  Button  — 
and  it  came.  Then  the  good  lad}', 
glancing  around  with  a  serious  and 
composed  expression,  bent  her  head  a 
little  forward,  and  covered  her  eyes 
with  her  hand.  The  others  gravely 
followed  the  example  of  their  fugle- 
woman,  and  so  remained  for  the  space 


of  about  one  and  a  half  minutes, — 
all  except  Civille  and  the  doctor. 
The  former  was  occupied  with  her 
pet.  As  for  the  doctor,  he  gave  a 
queer  sort  of  start  at  this  sudden  man- 
ual exercise,  and  controlled  a  desire 
to  laugh.  This  however  shone  in  his 
wicked  eyes,  for  when  he  gave  a  look 
at  Civille,  who  was  next  him,  she  al- 
most laughed  too  ;  but  managed  to  get 
off  with  a  blush,  a  smile,  a  reproach- 
ful glance,  and  great  demonstrations 
of  tenderness  over  the  baby. 

When  this  silent  preliminary  was 
over,  Civille  again  looked  at  the 
naughty  doctor  and  shook  her  head 
in  a  warning  manner. 

"I  didn't  say  any  thing,"  answered 
the  cavilling  and  irreverent  man,  in 
a  low  tone  —  "  it's  a  good  thing.  Do 
well  to  have  the  whole  proceedings 
that  way,  at  most  meetings." 

"Well,  ladies,"  said  the  president, 
in  her  prompt  way,  "the  business 
before  the  Board  is,  to  see  whether 
we  shall  hire  more  rooms  here,  or 
move.  If  we  move,  we  shall  hinder 
begin  over  again.  I  suppose  we  had 
better  stay  if  we  can  get  room  here, 
for  considering  the  way  things  are  in 
this  street,  we  have  a  very  desirable 
class  of  infants,  and  their  mothers  are 
very  respectable.  Isn't  that  so,  Doc- 
tor Veroil  ?  " 

"  Eminently  so,  madam,"  replied 
the  doctor :  "  Sanitary  condition  most 
satisfactory,  and  popularity  and  con- 
sequent usefulness,  as  you  say,  require 
larger  accommodations.  This  little 
creature,  now  "  —  he  pointed  to  the 
baby  that  Civille  was  holding  — 
"  shows  how  wide  a  range  we  already 
have  among  the  poor.  There  are 
some  rather  interesting  questions  of 
a  physiological  and  ethnological  na- 
ture that  I  would  like  to  look  at  a  little 
by  comparing  a  few  infants  of  differ- 
ent  races.     I   hope  we  may  have  a 


36 


Scrope  ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


Mongolian  child  to  match  our  small 
African  here  before  long." 

I  Mrs.  Button  gazed  upon  the  doctor's 
handsome  and  intelligent  face,  with  a 
reproving  look,  as  much  as  to  say, 
No  rude  jests  in  the  sacred  precincts 
of  a  pious  Charity  ! 

"African?"  she  queried,  with  de- 
cided dryness  in  her  tone.  "  What 
do  you  mean,  Doctor  ?  " 

"  Just  what  I  say,  my  dear  mad- 
am," replied  Doctor  Veroil,  pleasantly. 
"  Didn't  you  know  that  it's  next  to 
impossible  to  tell  a  new-born  negro 
child  from  a  new-born  white  child  ? 
Can  be  done,  however.  This  one's 
old  enough  to  show  very  plainly,  — 
aren't  you,  Sambolet  ?  "  apostrophized 
the  good-natured  physician,  tickling 
the  infant  with  his  forefinger.  The 
little  creature  grasped  the  doctor's 
digit  with  its  tiny  hands,  and  after  the 
fashion  of  sucklings,  strove  to  carry  it 
to  its  mouth,  which  it  opened  for  the 
purpose. 

The  Lady  President,  with  a  most 
disinfectant  and  nose-holding  expres- 
sion of  countenance,  as  if  descending 
into  a  plague-pit,  or  resisting  the 
natural  effects  of  a  quart  of  "  ipecac  " 
taken  internally,  approached  the  im- 
mortal soul  incarnated  in  a  human 
being  which  had  occasioned  the  doc- 
tor's little  essay  on  Comparative  Eth- 
nology, and  scrutinized  it  in  a  manner 
for  describing  which  the  term  intense 
is  a  mere  paralysis.  Babies  are  quite 
as  susceptible  to  the  atmosphere  of 
their  interlocutors  as  grown  people, 
although  they  have  to  yell  and  kick 
instead  of  using  execrations,  trespass 
on  the  person,  assault  with  intent 
to  kill  and  murder  in  the  first  degree. 
But  if  the  deed  could  l^ave  been  sub- 
stituted for  the  will,  few  and  evil  in- 
deed would  have  been  the  remaining 
days  of  Mrs.  Tarbox  Button  in  the 
land !     That  excellent  and  charitable 


dame  had  barely  time  to  recognize  in 
the  little  thing,  — either  in  the  scanty 
hairs,  or  in  the  not  very  aquiline  nose, 
or  in  the  rather  pulpy  little  red  lips, 
or  in  the  soft  satiny  ruddiness  of  the 
delicate  skin,  — some  faint  reminiscen- 
ces from  the  mysterious  continent  of 
Augustine,  Tertullian  and  Cleopatra. 
Perhaps  she  smelt  the  very  Original 
Sin  that  Augustine  used  to  be  troubled 
with  ;  who  knows  ?  But  she  groaned 
out,  with  exactly  the  tone  of  voice  for 
the  Lady  of  Shalott  when  she  remark- 
ed that  the  curse  had  come  upon  her  — 

"  A  Nigger  Baby  ! " 
As  was  observed,  she  had  barely 
time  thus  to  inspect  and  thus  to 
observe,  when  the  N.  B.  aforesaid, 
experiencing  something  disagreeable, 
quickly  shut  its  eyes  tight,  opened  its 
mouth  a  great  deal  more  than  enough 
to  make  up,  and  gave  one  yell  that 
almost  knocked  the  lady  president 
flat  on  her  back.  She  struggled  to 
her  seat  and  looked  feebly  around  her. 
Doctor  Veroil  laughed  softly,  but  so 
heartily  that  his  face  turned  a  bright 
red  in  his  efforts  not  to  make  a  noise; 
and  poor  Civille,  insulted  and  fright- 
ened almost  as  much  as  the  baby,  with 
one  appealing  glance  at  the  doctor, 
burst  into  tears,  and  lifting  the  yell  — 
beg  pardon,  the  baby  —  in  her  arms, 
fled  into  the  back  room,  where  a  sym- 
pathetic chorus  of  wails  arose,  upon 
which  the  doors  were  shut,  and  quiet 
gradually  fell  again  upon  the  infant 
band,  under  the  skilful  ministrations  of 
the  nurses. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Button  had  in  some 
measure  recovered  from  the  blow,  she 
exclaimed, 

"  We  must  get  rid  of  that  child  !  " 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  "  exclaimed  Doctor 
Yeroil  impulsively,  but  recovering 
himself  he  added,  "  Well,  ladies,  I  must 
leave  you,  unless  you  have  some  fur- 
ther commands." 


Scrope  ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


37 


The  Doctor  was  unwilling  to  be 
present  at  the  human  sacrifice  which 
he  saw  Mrs.  Button  meant  to  offer, 
and  as  the  discussion  was  turning 
quite  away  from  the  field  of  his  duties, 
he  seized  the  opportunity  to  escape, 
with  polite  farewells.  A  debate  fol- 
lowed, in  which  some  of  the  ladies, 
not  sufficiently  devoted  to  principle, 
intimated  that  it  would  do  no  harm 
to  permit  Number  Ten  —  such  was 
the  mark  on  the  child's  crib-ticket  — 
to  remain.  But  they  were  speedily 
enlightened  by  their  presiding  officer, 
who  argued  with  many  words  and 
very  great  power,  the  following  heads 
of  discourse,  —  for,  though  it  is  a 
great  pity,  there  is  not  room  to  report 
her  remarks  verbatim : 

First:  The  Shadowing  Wings  is 
for  the  purpose  of  doing  good. 

Second :  A  wise  compliance  with 
the  weaknesses  of  others  is  com- 
manded by  Saint  Paul,  who  says  that 
we  must  not  cause  our  brother  to 
offend;  and  it  is  indispensable  for 
practical  usefulness. 

Third:  The  poorer  classes,  among 
whom  we  labor,  have  the  weakness 
of  disliking  negroes,  and  if  we  insist 
on  keeping  the  two  together,  we  shall 
cause  our  brother  to  offend. 

Fourth :  Therefore,  a  wise  and 
scripturally  reasoned  regard  for  Chris- 
tian Expediency  ordains  that  we  ex- 
pel the  negro  infant,  Number  Ten, 
from  The  Shadowing  Wings,  in  order 
to  do  good. 

When  the  vote  was  taken,  it  was 
carried  for  expulsion  by  one  majority. 
If  Civille  had  been  present  there 
would  have  been  a  tie  ;  but  she  had 
gone  away  without  returning  to  the 
meeting.  And  accordingly,  Mrs.  But- 
ton, at  the  close  of  the  session,  as  she 
was  departing,  commanded  the  nurses 
to  notify  the  mother  of  Number  Ten 
that  evening,  that  she  could  no  longer 


be  allowed  to  leave  her  infant  at  The 
Shadowing  Wings. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

Ok  the  same  morning,  and  at  about 
the  same  hour  when  the  great  Christian 
Expediency  Baby-Expulsion  was  be- 
ing enacted  by  the  high  priestess  of 
The  Shadowing  Wings,  there  existed 
(it  will  not  do  to  say  "  there  might 
have  been  seen,"  for  the  narrow  entry 
was  too  dark  for  that)  a  small  tin  sign. 
This  was  on  the  outside  of  a  door  up 
two  nights  of  stairs  and  deep  in  the 
bowels  of  one  of  those  crowded  buzzing 
buildings  crammed  with  offices  of  all 
kinds,  divided  and  subdivided  like  a 
new  system  for  the  classification  of 
knowledge,  of  which  there  are  so 
many  in  that  densely  occupied  busi- 
ness section  of  New  York  to  the  south- 
east of  the  City  Hall  Park.  The 
particular  building  in  question  was  on 
Nassau  Street,  not  far  from  Pulton. 
Inside  of  the  door  on  which  was  this 
invisible  sign,  there  was  a  front  office, 
a  desolate  room,  where  a  couple  of 
clerks  were  busily  writing.  At  its  fur- 
ther side  were  folding  doors,  close  shut. 
Behind  these  was  the  private  office ; 
a  small  room,  or  rather  den,  uncar- 
peted  and  dreary,  though  not  very 
dirty.  It  contained  a  heavy  table 
with  a  few  books  on  it,  two  or  three 
desks,  a  large  safe,  several  heavy 
wooden  chairs,  and  a  small  Morning 
Glory  stove.  It  was  lighted  by  one 
dusty  window,  opening  into  a  kind  of 
well  with  brick  sides.  If  you  should 
look  up  this  well  or  pit,  you  would  see 
at  the  top  a  little  piece  of  sky ;  in  its 
sides,  wei-e  other  similar  dusty  windows 
of  similar  dens.  Its  floor  or  bottom 
was  a  low-pitched  glass  roof,  lighting 
some  back  store  or  stores  on  the  ground 
floor.     A  few  feet   above   this    glass 


38 


Scrope  ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


roof  was  extended  on  stout  uprights  a 
web  or  screen  of  wire  net,  with  coarse 
meshes,  to  protect  the  glass  from 
any  deceased  cats,  old  hoots,  broken 
bottles,  or  other  meteoric  bodies 
likely  to  descend  from  the  higher  re- 
gions. 

The  lion  of  this  den  sat  writing  at 
the  table  —  a  heavily  built  man  just 
passing  beyond  middle  age  —  Mr.  Tar- 
box  Button.  The  legend  upon  the 
invisible  tin  sign  was  : 

"BUTTOST :  SUBSCRIPTION  PUBLISHER." 

For  it  was  in  this  strenuous  and 
ferocious,  if  not  piratical  business, 
that  this  great  man  had  laid  the  foun- 
dations of  his  fortune.  He  still  pur- 
sued it,  waiting  either  to  sell  out  to 
some  proper  successor,  or  to  close  it, 
at  entering  upon  the  career  of  states- 
manship for  which  every  Ameiican 
citizen  is  by  law  made  fit,  and  which, 
Mr.  Button  felt,  would  be  a  noble 
close  for  the  active  years  of  his  labo- 
rious and  successful  life.  He  was  ex- 
pecting Mr.  Adrian  Scrope  Chester, 
on  business,  and  by  appointment,  the 
interview  having  been  before  agreed 
upon,  whenever  next  Chester  should 
be  in  New  York. 

Mr.  Button,  a  "  self-made  man,"  to 
use  the  irreverent  slang  of  biogra- 
phers, was,  as  may  have  been  gath- 
ered from  Mr.  Van  Braam's  remarks 
about  him,  strong,  shrewd,  energetic, 
prompt,  peremptory  and  coarse.  As 
a  wit  once  remarked  of  another  of  his 
kind,  and  like  most  of  them,  "  he  was 
a  self-made  man,  and  worshipped  his 
creator." 

His  energy,  his  promptness,  his  ve- 
hement will  and  his  unrelaxing  en- 
forcement of  it,  his  skill  in  judging 
candidates  for  employment,  his  shrewd 
insight  into  the  merits  of  a  specula- 
tion, his  sagacity  in  estimating  values, 
had  by  his  long  and  active  use  of  them, 


greatly  increased  within  their  range 
in  power  and  precision,  but  their 
range  had  not  increased.  His  way 
of  life,  moreover,  had  developed  his 
promptness  and  decision  into  rough 
and  sometimes  even  brutal  man- 
ners, and  his  success  had  filled  him  ful- 
ler and  fuller  of  a  great  pride  in  what 
he  had  done,  and  in  his  own  individual 
self  as  the  man  that  had  done  it. 
And  being  narrow  and  vulgar  in  his 
original  mental  structure,  and  having 
grown  very  much  more  so  by  reason 
of  his  having  done  so  well  in  life  with 
such  attainments  as  he  had,  he  had 
acquired  a  habit  of  pretty  thorough 
contempt  for  the  less  money-making 
qualities,  and  indeed  for  any  qualities 
except  his  own*  and  a  habit  of  express- 
ing it  pretty  freely  too,  — exceptions 
excepted.  These  exceptions  were  the 
cases  where  he  wanted  any  thing  of 
anybody.  This  happened  quite  often, 
indeed ;  and  in  these  cases  Mr.  Button 
always  used  one  and  often  both,  of 
his  two  regular  lines  of  persuasion, 
to  wit,  money  and  flattery.  It  was 
Mr.  Button's  full  belief,  as  it  had  been 
his  experience,  that  these,  properly 
used,  were  infallible.  How  could  he 
think  otherwise?  He  knew  what 
would  be  infallible  with  himself.  It 
should  be  added,  that  like  a  born 
economizer  as  he  was,  he  never  used 
either  of  these  motives  where  a  plain 
statement  of  what  he  wanted  and  a 
direct  asking  for  it,  would  serve  the 
purpose,  as  in  a  great  many  cases  it 
would.  Most  people  like  to  do  what 
they  are  asked,  other  things  being 
equal.  So  that  nothing  of  what  was 
just  above  said  is  to  the  disadvantage 
of  any  of  those  numerous  virtuous 
persons  who  have  (for  instance)  given 
recommendations  of  Mr.  Button's  va- 
rious publications,  merely  because  he 
asked  them. 

Lastly :  there  were  now  and  then 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


39 


occasions  when  Mr.  Button  found  his 
account  in  stern  reproof  or  even  in 
furious  bullying,  of  which  last  in  par- 
ticular he  was  a  good  master.  But 
when  good-natured,  he  was  often  jolly- 
enough,  and  even  jocular  in  a  queer 
random  sort  of  way. 

As  for  Adrian's  errand,  the  proposed 
interview  was  in  a  certain,  sense  an 
effort  of  the  two  men  to  come  to  a 
satisfactory  understanding.  Button, 
like  some  other  people,  was  not  with- 
out his  little  inconsistencies.  Exces- 
sively vain  of  his  own  success  in  life, 
he  was  almost  equally  vain  of  his  an- 
cient Scrope  descent ;  which  was  his 
only  reason  for  assisting  Scrope  of 
Scrope,  except  of  course  such  expec- 
tations as  he  might  have  from  the 
great  Scrope  estate,  and  which  had 
far  more  to  do  with  his  patronage  of 
Mr.  Van  Braam  than  even  the  proud 
pleasure  of  being  a  patron.  It  was 
because  Adrian  was  also  a  Scrope,  that 
he  had  acquiesced  in  his  daughter's 
engagement  to  the  young  man  ;  for 
certainly  Adrian  had  very  few  of  such 
qualities  or  acquirements  as  Mr.  But- 
ton would  desire  in  a  son-in-law.  He 
had  no  money,  or  next  to  none  ;  no 
disposition  to  make  any,  so  far  as 
could  be  seen,  and  therefore,  it  was 
fair  enough  to  conclude,  no  ability  to 
do  so.  Of  moral  qualities,  intelligence 
and  education  he  had  a  sufficient 
share  however  ;  and  Mr.  Button  had 
conceived  the  idea  of  endeavoring  to 
make  these  qualities  the  basis  of 
some  employment  for  Adrian  in 
some  department  of  his  own  busi- 
ness. 

There  had  been  before  this  more  or 
less  skirmishing,  so  to  speak,  though 
of  a  reasonably  good-humored  kind, 
between  the  two  men,  on  the  general 
subject  of  Adrian's  prospects.  They 
had  —  very  naturally  —  not  exchan- 
ged their  full  opinions  of  each  other, 


nor  of  matters  and  things  in  general  • 
but  they  knew  very  well  how  they 
differed,  and  they  were  willing  enough 
to  come  to  some  understanding  if  pos- 
sible. Mr.  Button  did  not  avow,  it  is 
true,  that  once  for  all  this  was  Adri- 
an's opportunity  to  accept  or  refuse  a 
lucrative  establishment  for  life,  in  his 
business  as  well  as  in  his  family.  Nor 
did  Adrian  avow  his  repugnance  for 
many  of  the  surroundings  of  his  be- 
trothed and  of  her  relatives,  nor  the 
sacrifice  of  inclination  and  enjoyment 
which  a  business  career  would  inflict 
upon  him.  They  both  knew  very 
well  however  what  to-day's  meeting 
was.  It  was  like  the  Peace  of 
Amiens ;  a  diplomatically  friendly 
negotiation  between  powers  naturally 
hostile,  for  preventing  or  postponing 
an  open  rupture. 

Adrian,  who  as  it  happened  had 
never  visited  the  office  before,  after 
some  stumbling  and  fumbling  in  the 
outer  darkness,  at  last  deciphered 
the  legend  on  the  tin  sign  by  the  aid 
of  a  lucifer  match,  and  entering,  was 
shown  into  the  presence.  Mr.  Button 
received  him  in  his  pleasantest  man- 
ner, that  is,  with  a  nod,  a  grin,  and  a 
shake  of  the  hand,  without  getting  out 
of  his  chair. 

"  Wal,  how  air  ye  ?  Seddown. 
Glad  to  see  ye." 

Adrian,  as  he  replied,  took  the 
chair  which  the  publisher  indicated, 
and  the  latter  continued  : 

"Seen  the  wimmen  folks  to-day? 
Heard  on  ye  yesterday  afternoon." 

"  Yes ;  I  could  only  run  up  for  a 
few  moments  yesterday,  but  I  made 
quite  a  call  this  morning.  They  sent 
me  off,  at  last,  Mr.  Button; — they 
had  to  go  to  The  Shadowing  Wings, 
and  Mrs.  Button  said  I  had  no  busi- 
ness with  the  babies." 

"Oh,  wal;  every  man  must  git  up 
his  own,  I  spose  she  meant.     Won't 


40 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


stay  with  us,  I  spose,  this  time   nei- 
ther ?  » 

"  I  can't,  really,  without  turning 
your  house  upside  down,"  said  Adrian 
with  a  smile.  "  I've  so  many  people 
to  see,  and  so  many  places  to  go  to 
and  so  many  things  to  do,  that  it 
would  be  nothing  but  a  plague  to  you  ; 
I  shouldn't  be  on  hand  at  meals  nor 
bed  time,  nor  any  time." 

"  All  right ;  all  the  better  for  me  ; 
I  have  to  be  as  regular  as  clockwork 
of  late  years ;  a  little  thing  puts  me 
out,  now.  Though  I  shouldn't  budge 
an  inch  for  you,  nor  nobody  else  — 
can't,  in  fact.  But  ma's  rather  funny 
about  her  housekeeping  and  it's  jest 
as  well  not  to  annoy  her.  You're  jest 
in  season  here,  any  way.  One  o'  my 
clerks  is  out,  and  there's  a  lot  o'  little 
things  that  he  usually  helps  me  with, 
that  I  ought  to  see  to  before  I  say  a 
word  to  ye.  Now  spose  you  jest 
take  hold  with  me  here  a  while  and 
close  out  some  on  um  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Adrian. 
It  is  possible  that  the  clerk  had  been 
sent  out. 

"  Wal ;  the  fust  thing  is,  these  let- 
ters"—  he  indicated  two  piles  of  a 
dozen  or  two  each  —  "  they're  kinder 
confidential,  some  on  um,  and  I  don't 
like  to  put  on  a  new  clerk,  so  it  comes 
jest  right  to  git  you  instid.  I  always 
answer  every  thing  right  away. 
'Tain't  no  way  to  do  business,  to  have 
a  lot  o'  fag  ends  hangin  round. 
Sfishunt  unto  the  day  is  the  evil 
thereof,  without  havin  an  extry  lot 
on't  cold,  left  over  from  yesterday." 

With  this  sound  practical  exposition 
of  a  wise  text,  the  publisher  pushed 
over  to  Adrian  some  letter  paper  and 
writing  materials,  took  up  one  of  the 
piles  of  letters,  and  began : 

"  There  ;  these  are  miscellaneous. 
I'll  read  um  out,  and  then  tell  ye  the 
substance  of  what  to  say,  or  dictate, 


if's  necessary.  Leave  the  signature. 
I'll  put  that  in  myself.  Some  on  um 
don't  require  no  answer,  but  I've  kep 
um  all,  so's  you  can  see  how  they  run, 
like  the  three  blind  mice." 

He  took  up  the  first  letter,  and  read 
it  aloud.  It  was  dated  in  the  city, 
and  was  as  follows  : 

Dear  Sin  :  —  Knowing  your  Christian 
character,  goodness  of  heart  and  interest 
in  the  unfortunate,  I  write  to  explain  to 
you  my  sad  situation,  being  fully  confident 
that  you  will  help  me.  I  am  a  Tegular 
attendant  at  Dr.  Toomston's  church, 

—  "  that's  sad,  certain,"  commented 
Mr.  Button  — 

but  believe  there  is  a  greater  Spiritual 
Church  in  which  we  are  all  members.  I 
have  been  favored  with  some  spiritual 
gifts  among  the  recent  revelations  from 
the  spirit  world,  which  I  have  tried  to 
cultivate,  but  I  have  not  been  favored  in 
the  things  of  this  life,  as  you  have,  and  I 
am  in  great  poverty  and  sorrow,  not 
knowing  wherewith  to  procure  the  means 
of  living,  nor  clothes  to  wear,  nor  a  shel- 
ter for  my  head.  As  I  am  a  stranger  to 
you,  I  respectfully  invite  you  to  investi- 
gate   my   case    personally.     My   present 

abode  is  at  No. ,  corner  Sixth  Avenue 

and Street,  Room  24,  top  floor.     Do 

not  neglect  me,  I  implore  you ;  for  what 
is  to  you  but  one  drop  out  of  the  bucket 
will  be  to  me  a  rescue  from  the  utmost 
suffering.  I  am  daily  in  fear  of  being 
even  thrust  out  into  the  street,  by  an  un- 
merciful landlord.  So  hoping  to  receive 
at  once  of  your  charity,  I  remain  in  truth 
and  love 

Yours  sincerely 

Amelia  Griggs. 

"  There,"  said  Mr.  Button,  with  a 
serious  face. 

"Shall  you  go?"  asked  Adrian, 
who,  not  being  rich,  had  .not  found 
out  what  a  begging  letter  is,  and 
really  felt  quite  sorry  for  poor  Amelia 
Griggs. 

"  Go  ! "  said  Mr.  Button,  with  en- 
ergy,—  "not  much.     No  black  mail 


Scrope. 


or. 


The  Lost  Library. 


41 


for  me,  thank  you.  If  that  woman 
could  get  me  up  there  once,  I  should 
have  my  choice  between  maintaining 
her  afterwards,  or  some  kind  of  a 
scandal.  She's  a  spiritualist  too,  or 
she  says  so ;  that's  rather  queer,  all 
by  itself." 

"  But  suppose  Mrs.  Button  or  Ann 
should  look  her  up  ?  "  — 

"  Oh  pshaw  !  you're  green,  Adrian. 
It's  a  regular  begging  letter.  I  git 
sometimes  a  dozen  in  a  day.  I  kep 
a  lot  of  um  at  fust,  but  I  found  I 
should  have  to  have  a  house  on  pur- 
pose, and  I  fling  um  all  in  the  waste- 
basket  now.     So  much  for  that." 

And  he  suited  the  action  to  the 
word.  But  Adrian,  not  quite  able  to 
accept  this  harsh  decree,  and  at  any 
rate  desirous  to  keep  the  letter  as  a 
curiosity,  asked  for  it. 

"  Why,  certain ; "  and  he  gave  it  to 
him  —  "but  my  boy,  don't  you  git 
mixed  up  with  no  sech  critters,  —  now 
mind  that !  Once  for  all,  in  this  city, 
when  you  look  into  cases  of  charity 
and  particularly  when  you  talk  with 
wiininen,  unless  you  know  exactly 
where  you  air,  either  stop  before  you 
begin,  or  have  your  witnesses  with 
you.  Why,  I  won't  talk  with  no  wirn- 
men  in  this  very  office,  except  it 
should  be  my  own  family  or  so,  with- 
out openin'  them  doors  wide  so's  to  hev 
my  clerks  see  what's  a  goin  on." 

Adrian  opened  his  eyes  as  wide  as 
Mr.  Button  his  doors,  at  discovering 
a  state  of  things  that  many  a  respect- 
able citizen  fully  understands  to  his 
great  cost  and  discomfort. 

"  Wal,"  resumed  the  other,  "  the 
next  thing  on  the  programme  will  be 
something  else,  as  the  nigger  minstrels 
say." 

So  he  took  up  the  next  letter.  It 
was  a  request  for  money  for  a  politi- 
cal purpose.  "  Note  in  the  upper 
right  hand  corner,"  observed  Mr.  But- 


ton, "yes,  politely,  with  check.  The 
number  for  filing  goes  in  tother  cor- 
ner. I'll  git  it  back  agin,  in  some 
shape,  one  o'  these  days." 

The  next  was  a  notice  of  an  insur- 
ance premium  due ;  and  there  fol- 
lowed an  invitation  to  a  church  fair, 
a  notice  to  serve  on  a  jury,  a  letter 
from  a  conveyancer  about  the  title  to 
certain  real  estate,  and  so  on.  To 
most  of  these  a  word  or  two  sufficient- 
ly indicated  the  reply;  a  few  re- 
quired answers  dictated  in  full,  which 
were  accordingly  executed  on  the 
spot. 

The  extreme  difference  in  the  na- 
tures of  the  two  men  was  well  illus- 
trated by  the  contrast  in  their  appear- 
ance as  they  sat  at  their  work  at  the 
same  table.  One  was  tall,  the  other 
only  middle-sized  ;  one  was  singularly 
light,  swift  and  easy  in  all  his  mo- 
tions, the  other  not  exactly  clumsy, 
but  at  least  deliberate  and  unelastic. 
Both  were  light  rather  than  dark  in 
personal  colors,  but  the  young  man's 
fine  glossy  dark  brown  hair,  clear 
well  opened  eyes,  and  delicate  skin 
announced  great  fineness  of  texture 
throughout,  while  Mr.  Button's  thick 
close-cut  hair,  strong  and  coarse,  was 
of  a  dull  indistinct  sandy  hue, -so  to 
speak  of  no  color  whatever ;  and  its 
stubbly  growth  was  somewhat  as  if 
he  had  saved  up  old  scrubbing-brushes 
to  make  him  a  wig  of.  He  was  close 
shaven,  while  Adrian's  beard  and 
mustache,  naturally  growing  shapely 
and  full,  were  untouched  by  steel  —  it 
is  to  be  observed  that  now-a-days  no 
man  is  described  until  beard  and 
mustache  have  been  accounted  for. 
Thus,  Button's  square  coarse  jaws, 
his  rather  full  and  not  very  shapely 
lips,  and  blunt  fleshy  nose  took  a 
complete  relief  upon  his  head,  which 
was  not  very  large  ;  and  as  his  neck 
was  thick  and  short,  the   back  and 


42 


Scrope  ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


base  of  his  brain  relatively  full,  and 
the  top  of  his  head  shallow,  the  result 
was  a  contracted  and  little  look  not  at 
all  beautiful,  and  which  the  quite  re- 
spectable development  of  the  lower 
or  perceptive  part  of  his  forehead  was 
not  of  itself  able  to  compensate.  Even 
the  long  upper  lip,  so  usually  held  a 
mark  of  practical  sense,  rather  in- 
creased than  diminished  the  ungain- 
liness  of  the  face.  His  shoulders  and 
chest  were  massive,  as  indeed  was  the 
whole  frame  ;  so  that  he  gave  the  im- 
pression of  a  slow  rock-like  strength, 
which  was  doubly  striking  as  con- 
trasted with  the  grace  and  ease  of  the 
younger  man.  A  last  odd  finish  was 
given  to  Mr.  Button's  face  by  a  fan- 
tasy of  nature,  which  had  framed  his 
thick  sandy  eyebrows  in  two  round 
uplifted  arches,  giving  a  rather  funny 
fixed  look  of  astonishment  to  his  face, 
which  was  the  more  ludicrous  as  it 
was  the  exact  opposite  of  his  solid, 
rugged,  resolute  and  firmly  poised 
mental  character.  The  one  man  lived, 
so  to  speak,  in  coarse  heavy  bone  and 
muscle  ;  the  other,  in  swift  blood  and 
lightning-quick  nerve  force.  It  was 
the  contrast  in  full  between  the  fleshly 
man,  and  the  spiritual  man.  When 
the  first  pile  of  letters  was  despatched, 
Mr.  Button  directed  Adrian  to  write 
out  the  answers  as  noted,  and  draw- 
ing the  dictated  letters  to  him,  read 
them  over,  and  remarked  with  evi- 
dent pleasure,  after  signing  them, 

"  Fustrate,  fustrate.  That's  what 
I  call  par  excellence.  You  write  the 
fastest  of  any  feller  I  ever  see,  to  write 
so  plain." 

Adrian  smiled  as  he  replied  that 
he  was  very  glad  to  suit ;  he  left  Mr. 
Button  to  suppose  that  the  smile  was 
caused  wholly  by  this  pleasure,  al- 
though it  was  in  fact  partly  due  to 
the  new  use  made  by  Mr.  Button  of 
two  words  from  the  French   tongue ; 


the  worthy  gentleman  no  doubt  con- 
founding them  with  their  English 
fac-similes,  which  indeed  furnished  a 
very  suitable  meaning. 

"  I've  taken  pains  enough  with  my 
hand-writing,"  he  added,  "to  be  en- 
titled to  some  credit  for  that.  I  be- 
lieve I  could  run  a  writing  school  on 
a  new  and  original  plan  of  my  own, 
and  a  good  one." 

"Could,  hay?  Plan  of  your  own, 
hay  ?  What's  that,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Button,  with  an  accent 
that  seemed  to  intimate  something 
like  :  Fine  plan  such  a  chap  as  you  are 
is  likely  to  hit  on  ! 

"Why,"  said  the  young  man,  "  I'd 
teach  just  the  opposite  of  the  ordinary 
commercial  hand-writing  teachers. 
They  try  to  teach  a  handsome  hand 
first,  then  a  rapid  one,  and  a  legible 
one  last,  if  it  happens  so.  Now  I'd 
have  these  three  things  to  do,  in- 
stead; First,  write  plain.  Second, 
write  fast.     Third,  write  pretty." 

"  Wal,  I  declare,"  said  the  senior, 
"Adrian,  I  didn't  know  you'd  got  so 
much  practical  sense.  You're  right, 
sure  as  you're  alive.  You  can,  really  ; 
you  can  make  money  on  that  plan, 
certain.  Wal,  we  sha'n't  git  through 
here  by  organizin  no  writin'  schools 
this  mornin." 

And  he  turned  again  to  the  remain- 
ing letters.  These  were  as  speedily 
and  satisfactorily  despatched,  and  Mr. 
Button,  as  he  shoved  them  aside,  ob- 
served, 

"  There  ;  so  far  so  good.  Them's 
all  ready  to  number  and  file.  The 
answers  must  be  press-copied.  John ! " 
he  shouted. 

One  of  the  clerks  entered,  and  was 
set  to  take  the  copies.  Mr.  Button 
looked  at  his  watch. 

"  I  declare  it's  later  than  I  thought. 
I've  gut  to  run  across  to  Broadway 
for  a  while  —  now  these  business  let- 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


13 


ters  are  more  particular ;  got  to  dic- 
tate most  of  them  "  —  and  he  paused. 

"Why,"  said  Adrian,  " dictating 
don't  take  long.  I'll  take  down  the 
answers  in  short  hand.  Then  you  can 
go,  and  I'll  have  them  all  extended 
when  you  come  hack." 

"  I  want  to  know  !  Can  ye  ? " 
exclaimed  Mr.  Button,  once  more 
agreeably  surprised.  "  Wal,  we'll 
try  it."  And  in  a  very  little  while 
the  answers  were  all  taken  down 
ready  for  writing  out,  and  Mr.  But- 
ton took  his  hat  and  coat. 

"  I  had  a  short-hand  feller  once  for 
a  while,"  he  remarked,  "  but  he 
wasn't  good  for  nothin'  else,  and  he 
didn't  know  his  own  trade  so  but 
what  I  had  to  dictate  half  his  work 
to  him  over  agin.  I  didn't  keep 
him  but  two  days  ;  told  him  I  wasn't 
goin'  to  have  him  learn  his  own 
business  at  my  expense,  and  shipt 
him.  Hain't  thought  much  o'  short 
hand  sence  that.  Praps  you'll  do 
better." 

And  off  he  went,  leaving  Adrian 
busy  at  his  writing,  which  occupied 
him  nearly  up  to  the  return  of  the 
publisher.  The  answers  were  now  read 
over,  fully  approved,  the  press  copies 
taken  as  before,  the  originals  num- 
bered and  filed,  and  the  day's  corres- 
pondence was  attended  to. 

"  That  last  letter  there,"  observed 
Mr.  Button,  "  that  there  wasn't  no  an- 
swer to,  from  that  air  old  Doctor  Gid- 
dins  that  said  he  couldn't  do  no  sech 
thing,  —  PH.  have  the  old  feller's 
name  sure,  if  he  is  a  Doctor  of  Di- 
vinity. That's  jest  what  I'm  a  goin 
to  buy  of  him.  But  there's  two  pints 
to  tend  to  before  that.  One's  about 
a  book,  and  tother's  about  a  man. 
The  book's  here  —  or  at  least  the  plan 
on't  is,  and  the  man's  a  comin ;  or  if 
he  ain't  it's  his  resk,  for  I  wrote  him 
ef  he  wasn't  here  at  half  past  twelve 


<>xact,  I  wouldn't  have  nothin  to  say  tc 
him.  He  wants  to  git  some  territory 
for  my  Histry  o'  the  Bible.  Tain't 
likely  it's  in  him,  anyhow.  Good 
agents  are  about  as  plenty  as  hen's 
teeth.     But  we'll  soon  find  out." 

"  Territory  ?  "  said  Adrian  — 
"what's  that?" 

"Why,  I  own  the  hull  United 
States,"  said  Mr.  Button,  adding 
with  a  grin,  —  "for  the  sale  of  my 
publications,  I  mean.  Now  ef  a  feller 
comes'n  wants  to  git  an  agency  —  say 
the  Histry,  now  —  the  fust  thing 
is  to  see  'f  he  can  sell  a  book." 

"Why,"  said  Adrian,  "how  can 
you  tell  that  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  you'll  see  how  I  can  tell, 
before  you  git  out  o'  this  office,  ef 
that  feller  comes  as  he  agreed.  I'll 
open  his  eyes,  unless  he's  smart,  I 
tell  ye  —  and  yourn  too,  smart's  ye 
be  !  —  Wal ;  spose  I  find  he  can  sell. 
Next  thing  is,  is  there  any  territory. 
This  book'll  tell ;  "  —  Mr.  Button  se- 
lected a  thin  folio  volume  from  the 
pile  on  the  table  and  opened  it  — 
"  This  is  my  record  of  the  hull  United 
States,  as  fur'z  I've  lotted  deestricks 
out  on't  to  sell  the  Histry  o'  the 
Bible.  You  see,  the  agents  are  my 
army,  and  I'm  like  the  centurion  in 
the  Bible  ;  I  say  unto  urn  to  come,  and 
go,  and  do  it,  and  they  do ;  and  if 
they  don't,  they  ketch  it !  I  make 
every  man  stand  in  his  lot,  and  work 
it  thorough ly  too,  I  tell  ye !  But 
about  this  book  :  "  — 

Here  Mr.  Button  took  from  a 
drawer  a  written  paper,  and  read  aloud 
a  very  long  title,  beginning  with  the 
words  "  Useful  Information,"  end- 
ing with  the  imprint, viz. /'Published 
by  Subscription  Only.  T.  Button. 
New  York;"  and  having  between 
the  two,  after  that  fashion  of  sub- 
scription books  which  is  so  disgusting 
to  practical  printers   of    good   taste, 


44 


8c rope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


what  really  amounted  to  a  whole 
table  of  contents,  showing  in  substance 
that  the  work  therein  described  was 
or  was  to  be  a  sort  of  encyclopedic 
collection  of  receipts  for  cooking, 
recipes  for  simple  medicines,  rules  for 
farming  affairs,  directions  for  plan- 
ning and  calculating  various  mechani- 
cal processes,  arithmetical  tables, 
forms  for  simple  written  instruments, 

—  in  short  a  most  extensive  miscella- 
ny of  information,  necessarily  of  the 
greatest  convenience  provided  always 
it  should  be  trustworthy. 

"  There,"  added  Mr.  Button,  as  he 
ended,  "  my  fust  name  for  that  was, 
"Button's  Every  Thing." 
"More  striking,"  commented  Adrian. 

"Praps  so,"  said  the  publisher; 
"but  these  sensation  titles  won't  do 
for  my  way  of  doin'  business,  no 
more'n  sensation  books.  I  can't  do 
nothin'  without  a  book  that's  really 
right  up  and  down  valable.  When 
I've  gut  that,  then  I  can  bear  on  jest 
as  hard  as  I  like,  and  the  more's  said 
about  the  book  the  better.  That's  the 
way  I've  made  my  money,  — by 
givin'  right  good  goods — better'n  I 
agreed,  every  time,  and  puttin'  on  a 
tre-menjus  pressure." 

Adrian,  who  had  never  closely 
looked  into  such  matters,  was  quite 
man  enough  to  perceive  and  to  ad- 
mire the  real  breadth  of  view,  the 
just  sense,  and  the  vast  energy,  that 
these  statements  implied,  and  he  said 
as  much,  to  the  evident  gratification 
of  Mr.  Button. 

"  But  how  do  you  make  people  buy 
the  book?"  he  inquired,  —  just  as 
one  of  the  clerks"  looked  in  to  say 
that  Mr.  Jacox,  and  another  gentle- 
man, were  present. 

"  Show  um  both  right  in,"  an- 
swered Button,  adding,  —  to  Adrian, 

—  '-'That's  jest  exactly  what  I'm  a 
goin  to  show  ye." 


CHAPTER   Vin. 

Two  men  came  in.  One  was  a  tall 
or  rather  a  long  man ;  oldish,  lean, 
seedy,  solemn,  with  a  hollow  chest, 
a  long  lean  face,  and  an  unwholesome 
dusky  unclean  complexion.  He  wore 
a  rusty  black  suit,  and  a  stock  in- 
stead of  a  cravat. 

"  Mr.  Jacox  ?  "  asked  Button. 

"  No,"  said  the  other  man,  quickly. 
"My  name's  Jacox."  He  was  a 
brisk  little  fellow,  it  might  be  either 
thirty-five  or  forty  years  old,  dry, 
jerky,  with  twinkling  light-blue  eyes, 
straight  whitish  hair,  whitish  eye- 
brows, a  voluble  quick  utterance,  and 
every  appearance  of  absolute  confi- 
dence in  Mr.  Jacox. 

Mr.  Button  looked  for  a  moment 
at  the  two  men,  decided  "which  was 
worth  attending  to,  and  proceeded  to 
eliminate  the  surd,  as  the  algebraists 
say. 

"  Seddown,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  to 
begin  with  ;  "  Glad  to  see  ye." 

They  saddown,  not  knowing  —  nor 
did  Mr.  Button  either  —  that  this 
form  of  the  verb  "  to  sit "  viz..  with 
a  d,  is  really  a  close  approach  to  the 
primeval  Aryan  root. 

"Did  you  want  to  see  me?"  he 
asked  of  the  desolate  long  rusty  man. 

"Yes,"  replied  he  in  a  dejected 
tone. 

"Wal?"  barked  Button,  inquir- 
ingly and  disapprovingly  in  a  sin- 
gle loud  harsh  syllable,  — "  Here  I 
be." 

"  Uh-uh-uh-m,"  bega*n  the  long 
man,  with  a  long  cough,  apparently 
only  a  cough  of  habitual  preface  ;  and 
he  added,  with  a  spiritless  manner, 
"  I  was  stopping  in  the  city  for  a  few 
days,  and  not  having  any  occupation 
just  at  present  —  I  am  a  member  of 
the  ministerial  profession,  sir  — but 
not  being  engaged  just  now,  I  thought 
I  would  confer  with  you  on  the  sub- 


Scrope . 


or, 


The  Lost  Library. 


45 


ject  of  undertaking  to  engage  in  the 
sale  of  some  of  jour  publications." 

Button  moved  impatiently  in  his 
chair. 

"  No  use,  Mr. Mr. no  use. 

You  can't  sell  my  books." 

The  long  man,  as  if  unaccustomed 
to  such  direct  and  uncompromising 
speech,  started  perceptibly,  and  looked 
aghast  for  a  moment,  as  if  some  one 
had  "  spatted  "  him  in  the  face  with 
a  cold  wet  hand. 

"  Uh-uh-uh-uh-m,"he  began  again ; 
"I  trust,  sir,  that  the  fact  of  my 
being  a  minister  of  the  gospel  "  — 

"Not  the  least  in  the  world,"  in- 
terrupted Button  —  "  Nothin'  of  the 
kind.  You  hain't  gut  the  root  o'  the 
matter  in  ye  —  that's  the  long  and 
the  short  on't.  You  can't  sell  books. 
You  can't  sell  nothin'.  I  hain't  no 
use  for  ye.  A  hundred  sech  fellers 
as  you  couldn't  sell  a  baby  a  tract. 
It's,  jizm  I  want.  Piety  ain't  no  count 
in  the  subscription  book  business.  Nor 
ministers  neither;  only  men.  I'd 
like  to  'commodate  ye,  my  friend,  but 
taint  no  kind  o'  use.  Good  morn  in'. 
I'm  very  busy.  John!"  he  shouted 
again  to  his  clerk,  who  instantly  ap- 
peared —  "  Show  this  gentleman  out." 

And  without  paying  the  least  at- 
tention to  the  confounded  long  man, 
who  coughed  again  in  full,  and  would 
have  begun  another  circumlocution, 
Mr.  Button  made  a  sudden  half-face, 
and  addressed  Jacox. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Jacox,  your  turn.  So 
you  want  to  git  some  territory  to  sell 
my  Histry  o'  the  Bible  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jacox.  But  both  he 
and  Adrian  wore  looks  that  testified 
to  an  uncomfortable  sensation  in  view 
of  the  dismissal  of  the  poor  broken- 
down  clergyman,  who  had  as  it  were 
gradually  been  extracted  from  the 
room  in  a  state  of  astonished  but 
feeble  indignation. 


"Hrnh!"  snuffed  the  publisher, 
vigorously.  "  That  chap  would  have 
sot  there  'n  talked  all  clay  long  'f  I'd 
a  let  him.  No  more  go  in  him  than 
there  is  in  a  broken-backed  snek. 
Sell  books  !  No  wonder  he  hain't  got 
no  engagement.  What's  he  good  for, 
I'd  like  to  know?  He  may  be  wuth 
somethin  a  preachin,  for  what  I 
know,  where   they  only  want   a  kind 

0  nuss  to  git  um  asleep,  but  I  don't 
believe  he  can  save  no  souls.  Forty 
sech  preachers  couldn't  convert  a  rat. 
let  alone  a  sinner  in  britches  !  All 
the  used  up   ministers  in  the  world, 

1  blieve,  think  they  can  make  their 
everlastin  fortins  a  sellin  books. 
They're  the  wust  and  meanest  fail- 
ures on  um  all.  I've  lost  money 
enough  and  time  enough  with  um.  I 
tell  ye,  before  this.  I  shuck  um  off 
mighty  quick  now." 

This  was  not,  perhaps,  very  chari- 
table, except  in  that  range  of  charity 
that  begins  at  home ;  but  the  two 
hearers  felt  that  it  was  hard  sense, 
and  business-like.     Button  went  on  : 

"  Married,  Mr.  Jacox  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Where's  yer  famly  ?  " 

"  North  Denmark,  Connecticut." 

"  References  ?  " 

Jacox  had  at  once  begun  to  be  un- 
easy under  this  inquisition,  probably 
thinking  it  only  another  mode  of 
prefacing  a  rejection,  and  being  a 
person  of  no  great  patience,  and  hav- 
ing a  good  deal  of  free  and  independ- 
ent American  citizenship  about  him, 
he  snatched  out  a  pocket-book  and  hast- 
ily drew  forth  some  bank  bills,  which 
he  exhibited,  saying  at  the  same  time, 
with  extreme  swiftness  of  utterance, 

"Well,  by  thunder,  I'd  about  as 
soon  expect  to  give  references  to  run 
a  gin  mill  as  to  run  the  subscription 
book  business.  I  can  pay  my  way, 
and  do  my  work,  and  do  exactly  as  I 


46 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


agree.  References  !  I  snum  !  Well, 
by  ginger,  you  can  write  to  Noyes 
and  Skittery  of  Hartford,  if  you 
want  to.  They  don't  want  me  to 
leave  'em.  But  I  won't  give  no  man 
no  references ! " 

"  Don't  kick  before  you're  spurred, 
Mr.  Jacox,"  placidly  observed  Mr. 
Button.  "I  like  your  spunk.  I 
think  it's  possible  you  and  I  may  agree, 
and  if  we  do,  and  you  do  as  I  say, 
3rou'll  make  a  comfortable  independ- 
ence in  a  few  years.  But  you  say 
you've  bin  one  of  Noyes  and  Skit- 
tery's  agents  ?  " 

"  Yes  I  do,  and  right  smart  men 
they  are.  Why,  they  made  not  less'n 
three  thousand  dollars  last  year  just 
on  outfits  they  sold  to  agents." 

"Wal,"  said  Mr.  Button,  weight- 
ily, "  I  don't  make  no  money  a  sellin 
one  book  and  a  canvassin  book 
apiece  to  my  agents  for  an  outfit.  I 
don't  make  money  off  my  agents.  I 
can  do  better.  I  make  money  for 
urn.  I  made  last  year  twenty  thou- 
sand dollars,  not  off  a  nasty  little 
mess  of  outfits,  but  off  one  work  I 
published.  And  my  agents  made 
forty-five  thousand." 

Jacox  opened  his  eyes. 

"  I  don't  say  nothin  against  Noyes 
and  Skittery,"  resumed  the  chieftain  ; 
"  I  know  urn  to  be  good  men  and 
smart  men.  But  their  system  ain't 
my  system,  and  my  agents  can't  use 
no  system  but  mine.  I  hain't  no  ex- 
pectation that  iSToyes  and  Skittery'll 
like  mine,  no  more'n  I  like  theirn. 
But  look  a  here,  Mr.  Jacox  ;  —  the 
bigger  share  you  git  of  the  sixty 
thousand  dollars"  —  Mr.  Button 
pronounced  with  an  emphasis  like 
one  that  carves  colossal  words  on  a 
pyramid  of  granite  —  "of  the  sixty 
thousand  dollars  my  agents  shall 
make,  this  year,  on  my  new  Histry 
o'  the  Bible,  —  the  more  you  git  on't, 


the  better  I  shall  be  pleased,  —  sup- 
posin  you  take  a  holt." 

Adrian  himself,  not  at  all  inclined 
nor  accustomed  to  look  at  things  from 
the  pecuniary  side,  began  to  feel  the 
influence  of  this  powerful  passion  for 
wealth  that  smouldered  so  hotly  in 
the  strong  and  large  though  low  na- 
ture of  Mr.  Button.  In  spite  of  him- 
self it  stimulated  him  from  under- 
neath, as  where  a  mass  of  coal  on 
fire,  burning  under  ground,  heats  and 
drives  up  an  unnatural  growth  of 
vegetation  on  the  surface  above  it, 
too  rank  for  the  cool  clear  air  on  the 
mountain.  As  for  Jacox,  a  quick- 
thoughted  and  vivid  creature,  and 
eager  for  wealth  after  the  genuine 
sharp-witted  Yankee  fashion,  even  if 
possible  more  than  Button  in  propor- 
tion as  he  was  poorer,  he  was  not 
merely  smouldering.  He  was  white 
hot  already,  though  with  correct  busi- 
ness habit  he  was  trying  desperately 
to  seem  totally  indifferent.  Pie  could 
hardly  sit  still.  Adrian  fancied  that 
as  the  little  man  sat  there  in  his 
chair,  he  could  hear  him  fizz  and  see 
him  thrill  in  the  new-fangled  scien- 
tific manner, —  and  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  Heat  a  Mode  of  Motion." 

Mr.  Button,  indeed,  was  under  a 
full  head  of  steam.  He  had  seen  at 
once  that  Jacox  would  make  a  capital 
agent,  and  he  was  fully  resolved  to 
capture  him  on  the  spot.  Besides, 
he  wanted  to  show  Adrian  how  to 
handle  Men.  He  resumed  ;  as  one 
might  say,  to  change  the  figure,  he 
re-opened  his  broadside  of  hot  shot. 

"Now,  Mr.  Jacox,  I'll  be  plain 
with  ye,  for  that's  the  best  way.  I 
like  your  looks ;  and  I  b'lieve  you 
and  I  can  do  fustrate  by  each  other. 
But  you  can't  sell  no  books  for  me 
not  on  your  plan.  I'll  jest  tell  ye  a 
little  about  mine,  and  if  you  don't 
like,  why,  there's  no  harm  done.     Ef 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Lihrary. 


47 


ye  do,  it's  a  thing  agreed.  Now,  — 
sellin.'  books  is  like  workin'  land.  It 
can  be  done  shallow,  or  deep.  Your 
way  —  I  don't  mean  no  disrespect  to 
nobody,  Mr.  Jacox,  but  it's  ray  way 
of  explainin'  things — your  way's 
what  I  call  the  Skitteryskimmery 
System.  Your  firm  rakes  in  a  rij- 
ment  —  I  should  say  a  brigade,  I 
reckon,  of  fellers,  anybody  they  can 
git  —  the  more  the  better,  because  the 
tirm  wants  to  save  itself  if  it  can  jest 
by  sellin  outfits  alone.  And  any  man 
mat  can  lay  down  the  price  of  an  out- 
fit's enlisted.  Then  they  give  out 
territory  jest  as  fast  as  they  can,  the 
faster  the  better,  and  they  send  out 
their  agents  jest  like  them  locusts 
that  come  up  over  the  land  of  Egypt, 
and  they  skitter  and  skim  over  the 
hull  country  in  about  three  months 
or  six  months,  'n  sell  what  they  can, 
and  deliver  the  books,  and  the  hull 
thing's  over.  And  the  next  six 
months  or  the  next  year  it's  jest  so 
over  again  with  another  book,  and  so 
on  ;  and  no  book  don't  sell  for  more'n 
a  year  at  the  outside,  and  the  coun- 
try gits  jammed  and  choked  with 
trash  that  ain't  fit  to  be  read.  Ain't 
that  so,  Mr.  Jacox  ?  " 

Jacox  laughed.  "Something  of 
that  kind,  Mr.  Button." 

"  Wal  —  my  system  is  the  Subsoil 
System.  I  don't  employ  no  agent  un- 
til I've  seen  him  and  talked  to  him 
and  found  out  what  he  can  do,  and 
shown  him  how,  if  he  don't  know  al- 
ready, for  I  do  know,  Mr.  Jacox  !  and 
the  proof  on't  is  the  money  I've  made. 
And  when  he's  taken  territory  I 
make  him  stay  there  and  sell  and  re- 
port to  me  and  sell  and  report  to  me 
until  he's  worked  every  house  in  his 
deestrict  —  every  house  !  And  my 
books'll  sell  for  ten  years,  for  twenty 
years,  and  they're  better  and  better 
all  the  time,  for  I  keep   improvin  on 


'em,  so's't  every  subscriber  gits  all  I 
promise  him  and  a  good  deal  o'  the 
time  more  too.  —  Now,  Mr.  Jacox,  do 
you  know  how  to  sell  a  customer  a 
book  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  the  little  man,  great- 
ly impressed  by  the  intense  manner 
and  weighty  matter  of  Mr.  Button's 
address, — "Why,  I've  been  in  the 
habit  of  thinking  so  ;  and  I've  sold  a 
good  many  books  ;  but  I'll  say  this, 
Mr.  Button  —  that  I'm  ready  to  take 
your  directions." 

"  Now  ye  talk  like  a  man  o'  sense," 
said  Button.  "  Here," — and  taking 
up  a  copy  of  the  History  of  the  Bible, 
he  held  it  out  to  Mr.  Jacox,  adding, 
—  "  Now  sell  me  that  book." 

Jacox  looked  puzzled. 

"  I  mean  it.  I  mean  exactly  that. 
Sell  me  that  book !  I  don't  want  it. 
D — n  a  book  agent  anyhow !  Cussed 
piratical  villins !  " 

Jacox,  without  a  word,  took  the 
volume,  and  rose  from  his  chair.  But- 
ton seized  a  pen,  turned  to  the  table, 
and  began  to  write  assiduously. 

"Mr.  Button,  I  believe?"  said 
Jacox,  in  a  prompt  and  sharp  but 
good  natured  voice. 

Button  just  glanced  up  and  then 
down  again,  sajang,  gruffly,  "Yes. 
What  want  ?  " 

Jacox  laid  the  book  on  the  table, 
open  to  the  title-page. 

"There,  Mr.  Button.  You're  a  man 
of  family.  That  book  will  do  more  to 
keep  your  children  honest  and  safe  in 
their  morals  and  their  practice,  than 
alHhe  Sunday  schools  in  York  State. 
You've  got  to  own  it." 

"  Get  out  with  your  book  !  "  ex- 
claimed Button,  slapping  down  the 
cover  of  the  book  and  giving  it  a  slide 
so  angry  and  vicious  that  it  flew  quite 
over  the  edge  of  the  table. 

Jacox  caught  it  neatly  in  the  air, 
laid  it  right  back  where  it  was  before, 


48 


Scrope  ;   or,   The  Lost  Library. 


open  just  the  same,  and  went  straight 
on  in  exactly  the  same  tone,  barely 
making  a  semicolon  at  the  interrup- 
tion. 

"  —  As  I  was  saying;  now  for  in- 
stance ;  3rour  daughter  hears  some- 
body say  the  Bible's  a  humbug  ;  she's 
a  young  innocent  girl  and  don't  know 
good  and  evil.  Or  your  son,  and  he 
thinks  it's  smart  to  be  an  independent 
thinker.  But  when  they  come  home 
and  ask  you  or  their  mother  about  it, 
you  just  look  up  the  points  in  this  book 
and  you  set  'em  all  right,  and  save  a 
fine  young  fellow  that  you've  set  your 
heart  on,  from  going  head  first  into 
infidelity,  and  all  the  wickedness  that 
generally  goes  along  with  it." 

—  "  You  see,"  broke  off  Jacox,  all 
of  a  sudden,  "  this  is  no  fair  shakes.  I 
haven't  studied  up  the  book.  I  don't 
know  any  thing  about  it  at  all.  I  can't 
sell  a  book  that  I  don't  understand. 
Neither  could  you ;  nor  anybody.  I 
can't  preach  at  random." 

"  You've  done  very  well,  Mr.  Jacox," 
said  Button  with  a  smile  —  "  That's 
jest  what  I  was  a  waitin'  to  hear  ye 
say.  I  was  a  lookin'  to  see  how  long  you 
could  run  your  mill  without  any  grist 
in't.  You're  the  man  I  want,I  guess. 
You  ain't  afraid,  and  you  don't  git 
upsot,  and  you  don't  lose  your  temper. 
And  if  you'd  a  had  the  fax  about  that 
book  welHn  your  mind,  how  long  would 
you  have  hung  on  to  me  ?  " 

A  fell  look  of  bull-dog  tenacity  set- 
tled in  the  queer  light-blue  eyes  of 
the  little  man  as  he  answered  with  his 
teeth  set  together, 

"Till  I  had  your  name  down  for 
one  or  more  copies,  unless  I  died  first." 

"Wal,"  said  Mr.  Button;  "that's 
extremely  satisfactory  ;  now  I  must 
go;  —  can  you  come  in  here  to-morrow 
morning  at  nine  exactly  ?  " 

Jacox  said  he  could. 

"  Then  I'll   make  an  arrangement 


with  ye  that'll  suit  ye,  I  guess.  I 
want  to  give  ye  some  particklers  about 
sellin  too,  that'll  be  of  service  to  ye. 
And  see  here  ;  —  I  wish  you'd  master 
this  here  "  —  he  took  a  printed  thing 
like  a  sort  of  hand-bill  or  broad  sheet 
off  the  table  and  gave  it  to  him  — 
"  and  see  how  full  an  account  on't 
you  can  give  me  in  the  mornin'. 
Adrian,  you  take  one  too  —  "  he 
handed  him  one  accordingly  —  "  I 
want  ye  to  see  how  these  things  are 
done.     Good  day,  Mr.  Jacox." 

And  with  more  cordiality  than  he 
had  yet  shown,  the  great  man  arose 
and  gave  his  new  agent  a  hearty 
farewell  shake  of  the  hand. 

When  Jacox  was  gone,  Button  sat 
back  in  his  chair  with  an  air  of  weari- 
ness that  rather  surprised  Adrian,  and, 
wiping  his  forehead,  he  asked  the  lat- 
ter, 

"  What  d'ye  think  o'  that  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  know  there  was  so  much 
generalship  in  the  business,"  an- 
swered the  young  man. 

"  There  is  though  —  and  it  uses  up 
the  general,  too.  Tell  ye  what 'tis,  it 
spends  a  man's  life  to  put  force  into 
things  like  that.  I've  got  that  Jacox, 
—  but  I'm  tired.  I've  grown  kinder 
shaky,  nervous  a  woman  would  call  it. 
I  can't  stan  it  as  well  as  I  could  fifteen 
years  ago.  I  feel  a  queer  kind  o  dizzi- 
ness every  once  in  a  while,  and  sorter 
pains  in  the  back  o  my  neck.  I  only 
wish  my  son  Bill  would  take  to  the 
business  —  Really,  I'd  a  bought  my 
own  book  o  Jacox  if  'twould  a  sot  Bill 
in  the  right  path,"  continued  Mr.  But- 
ton, with  a  queer  painful  smile  —  "I 
couldn't  help  a  thinkin  on't  when  he 
made  them  pints  about  a  man's  chil- 
dren. But  it's  too  late  now,  I  reckon. 
He  must  graduate  at  the  law  school, 
I  spose,  and  travel,  and  be  somethin 
or  other  —  I'm  sure  I  do'no  what." 

Mr.  William  Button  was  the  only 


JScrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


49 


and  not  particularly  hopeful  son  of 
the  capitalist.  Among  the  suffi- 
ciently numerous  deficiencies  of  our 
beloved  country  is,  the  want  of  an 
Education  for  the  Children  of  the 
Rich.  Physiological  results  of  igno- 
rance and  of  consequent  mistakes  in 
the  use  of  life  —  or  perhaps  instead 
of  mistakes  the  term  should  be  wrong 
conditions  of  society,  —  in  our  great 
business  centres,  make  them  often 
a  sort  of  whirlpools  into  which  good 
strains  of  blood  are  incessantly  div- 
ing and  disappearing.  A  strong 
eager  resolute  worker  comes  into  the 
city,  intent  on  wealth.  He  plunges 
into  a  career  of  furious  unrelaxing  va- 
cationless  struggling  for  money,  mar- 
ries, and  he  and  his  wife  go  straight 
on  in  the  same  road.  Even  while  a 
young  man,  even  though  upright  and 
pure  of  life,  the  freshness  and  cleanly 
vigor  of  his  youth  are  soiled,  dried, 
stagnated,  enfeebled,  by  the  hot  fury 
of  his  money-making,  the  dead  air 
of  the  city  streets,  a  life  without  ex- 
ercise, vacation,  or  any  health-giving 
constituent;  and  the  children  born 
to  him  are  by  a  necessary  result  the 
physiological  embodiments  of  mistake, 
unbalance,  imperfection.  They  are 
born  ill-constructed ;  their  very  mar- 
row and  pith  has  weak  streaks  in  it ; 
they  are  ships  whose  timbers  had  dry 
rot  in  them  when  they  were  framed. 

Now,  of  all  the  distinctions  of  man, 
the  highest  is,  his  infinite  power  of 
amendment,  of  reparation,  of  recov- 
ery, of  improvement.  Even  for  the 
strengthless  sprouts  of  these  unlucky 
city  stocks,  neither  physiologist  nor 
educator  —  scientific  as  we  pretend  to 
be  —  knows  how  great  a  measure  of 
redemption  might  be  secured  by  a  prop- 
er education  of  mind  and  body.  For 
our  poor,  our  schools  and  our  life  af- 
ford it.  In  other  countries,  much  is 
accomplished  by  the  aid  of  wise  and 


just  sentiments  as  to  the  responsibili- 
ty of  inheritors  of  wealth.  But  with 
us,  physiological  ignorance  prevents 
any  remedy  for  the  congenital  weak- 
nesses of  money-makers'  children,  and 
social  and  moral  ignorance  prevents 
any  remedy  for  the  peculiar  tempta- 
tions around  the  helpless  little  fools  as 
they  grow  up.  So  the  impartial  self- 
limitations  of  nature  are  left  to  do 
their  cold  unerring  work,  and  in  the 
second  or  third  generation  the  abused 
race  is  extinct,  by  a  vital  reductio  ad 
absurd  inn.  But  Mr.  Button,  though 
profoundly  displeased  at  many  things 
concerning  his  two  children,  and  par- 
ticularly his  son,  —  who  was,  in  short, 
rather  foolish  and  more  than  rather 
fast  —  could  not  imagine  any  reason 
for  it.  So  like  a  practical  man  as  he 
was,  he  said  but  little  about  it  and  did 
the  best  he  could. 

People  who  are  largely  and  instinc- 
tively kindly  and  desirous  to  help, 
often  attract  the  confidences  of  others, 
without  any  purposes  or  advances 
of  their  own.  Women  are  most  often 
called  to  such  lovely  offices  ;  but  there 
are  a  few  men  who  without  having 
less  of  the  masculine  forces,  have  as  it 
were  superadded  something  of  the 
feminine  emotional  and  sympathetic 
endowment.  Such  was  Adrian,  and 
he  had  often  met  with  experiences 
accordingly.  He  was  the  established 
confidant,  ex  officio,  of  all  his  friends. 
A  stranger  sitting  by  his  side  in 
the  rail  car  would  confess  to  him  his 
disappointments  in  life,  his  sor- 
rows and  even  —  sometimes  —  his  ill 
deeds ;  for  until  a  late  stage  of  the 
case-hardening  of  evil-doing,  sin  in 
most  people  is  more  or  less  consciously 
a  sickness,  a  pain,  and  almost  every- 
body longs  for  sympathy  in  sickness 
or  pain.  Even  lost  children  and  lost 
old  women  at  the  street  corners 
always  floated  up  to  Adrian  by  this 


50 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


unconscious  attraction,  to  ask  him  the 
way  ;  a  stray  dog,  or  a  poor  mewing 
outcast  kitten  infallibly  trotted  at  his 
heels.  And  here  was  this  big  bull  of 
a  capitalist  confessing  griefs  that  he 
would  hardly  admit  to  himself,  to  the 
young  man  that  he  habitually  looked 
on  as  a  "  kind  o'  Nimshi  "  —  as  is  the 
funny  Yankee  term  for  a  shiftless  per- 
son ;  apparently  from  some  fancied 
fitness  of  sound,  rather  than  from  any 
actual  inefficiency  recorded  as  belong- 
ing to  the  ancient  Hebrew  gentleman 
and  progenitor  of  Jehu. 

Adrian,  whose  opinion  of  Mr.  But- 
ton junior  was  certainly  not  higher 
than  the  father's,  found  no  adequate 
consolation  to  offer,  but  he  argued  as 
well  as  he  could  that  there  was  plenty 
of  time  yet ;  and  that  many  men  had 
waited  and  doubted  along  time  before 
choosing  their  occupation  ;  and  that 
perhaps  it  was  good  fortune  that  the 
young  man  could  afford  to  wait.  But 
the  shrewd  publisher  shook  his  head. 

"  I  do'  know  —  we'll  hope  for  the 
best.  —  But  there's  no  use  a  talkin 
about  it,  anyhow.  Now,  -as  to  my 
Useful  Information.  There's  a  lot  o 
work  to  be  done  on't  yet,  and  a  Gen- 
eral Introduction  to  be  writ,  and  I'd 
thought  o  makin  on  ye  an  offer  to 
take  holt  on't.  I've  got  an  old  feller 
to  daddy  it,  as  I  call  it  —  I  can  have 
any  I  want  out  of  a  dozen,  —  with  a 
D.D.  to  his  name,  that'll  let  me  put 
his  name  on  the  title-page.  Nothin 
like  havin  handles  to  the  author's 
name ;  if  he  has  as  many  as  one  o 
these  big  steamboat  engines,  a  stickin 
out  everywhere,  all  the  better.  D.D. 
stands  for  Daddy,  I  reckon.  Well, 
as  I  was  a  sayin,  there's  room  in  this 
office  for  a  smart  man,  and  there's 
money  too.  One  thing  leads  to  an- 
other, ye  know.  Who  knows  what 
might  come  on't  ?  " 

In  truth,  the  promptness  and  neat- 


ness with  which  Adrian  had  turned 
off  his  work  as  secretary,  had  greatly 
surprised  and  impressed  Mr.  Button, 
and  had  decided  him  almost  on  the 
instant  to  make  somewhat  such  a 
proposition  to  the  young  man  as  he 
had  thought  of  a  hundred  times.  But 
he  had  always  been  held  back  by  a  no- 
tion that  Adrian  "  couldn't  do  noth- 
in,"  as  he  would  have  phrased  it,  and 
still  more  by  his  not  understanding 
him.  Natures  like  Button's,  whose 
morality  is  decently  good,  but  whose 
highest  aspirations  are  filled  full  by 
authority  and  by  wealth,  are  perhaps 
the  best  that  can  be  really  happy  in 
this  world ;  for  happiness  is  the  suc- 
cessful exertion  of  the  best  of  our  fac- 
ulties. But  the  range  of  life  that  lies 
above,  in  thought ;  —  all  that  can  be 
lived  by  seeing  and  feeling  and  pro- 
ducing beauty  or  truth  or  love  —  all 
the  higher  grades  of  activity  are  un- 
known to  these  merely  materialist 
and  executive  minds.  They  are 
strongly  built  basements  ;  they  have 
no  sunny  upper  rooms  nor  oratories 
with  skylights.  Accordingly  Mr. 
Button  was  conscious  that  forceful  as 
he  knew  himself,  his  weapons  would 
not  bite  upon  Adrian,  and  he  was  di- 
vided between  displeasure  which  he 
was  inclined  to  think  just  contempt, 
and  another  feeling  which  he  would 
perhaps  have  called  dislike ;  but  it 
had  a  tinge  of  apprehension  in  it. 
There  is  always  some  fear  toward  a 
superior  organization.  It  is  as  belong- 
ing to  a  higher  —  a  more  spiritual  — 
range  of  being,  that  we  are  afraid  of 
a  ghost.  To  Button,  Adrian  was  a 
kind  of  ghost  —  unpractical,  intangi- 
ble, useless,  scareful. 

Adrian  in  reply  expressed  a  very 
honest  surprise ;  for  he,  understand- 
ing Button  pretty  well,  was  conscious 
of  his  sentiments,  and  had  smiled  to 
himself  more  than  once  at  the  idea 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


51 


of  their  yoking  together  in  business  — 
for  he  had  naturally  thought  of  it, 
having  thoughts  active,  discursive 
and  many.  But,  he  said,  not  having 
expected  it,  he  could  not  at  once  de- 
cide ;  and  furthermore,  he  was  to  be  so 
much  occupied  with  divers  affairs  that 
in  any  event  he  would  have  to  post- 
pone a  reply  for  some  weeks.  To  this 
Mr.  Button  agreed,  with  the  cautious 
remark  "there  ain't  nothin  bindin 
in  sejestions."  And  thereupon  the 
two  left  the  office,  Mr.  Button  to  as- 
sault and  carry  the  defences  of  the 
Reverend  Doctor  Giddings,  and 
Adrian  to  undertake  a  hunt  in  Gow- 
ans'  antiquarian  or  rather  second- 
hand book  store,  only  a  few  blocks 
away  in  Nassau  Street. 


CHAPTER  IX. 
The  visit  of  Adrian  Scrope  Chester 
to  New  York  was  for  several  pur- 
poses. The  first  of  these,  of  course, 
was  to  enjoy  some  of  those  hours,  — 
such  as  are  always  so  blissful  and  so 
brief — in  the  permitted  happiness  of 
Miss  Button's  society.  Another  was, 
to  be  present  at  the  approaching  meet- 
ing of  the  Scrope  Association.  An- 
other was,  to  obtain  the  relief  of  a  va- 
cation, or  at  least  of  a  change  of  activi- 
ties, from  the  steady  tediousness  of  his 
drudging  duty  as  Assistant  Librarian. 
By  passing  this  interval  in  New  York, 
he  was  certain  of  the  stimulus  always 
offered  by  the  swift  and  motley  vari- 
ety of  experiences  which  the  great 
city  is  forever  offering  to  the  sojourner 
from  without  it  —  the  said  sojourner 
being  for  the  most  part,  as  the  citi- 
zens know  very  well,  the  only  person 
decently  informed  about  what  is  going 
on  in  the  city.  And  besides  all 
these  errands,  there  was  still  another; 
a  purpose  which  was  in  fact  a  secret 
of  his  own ;  in  which  he  had  already 


been  eagerly  interested  for  several 
years.  How  eagerly,  none  can  very 
well  understand,  except  those  who 
have  themselves  been  possessed  by 
that  keen  and  absorbing  sort  of  passion 
which  belongs  to  pursuits  intrinsi- 
cally not  important,  as  if  the  trifling 
nature  of  the  occupation  itself  were 
to  be  made  up  for  by  the  correspond- 
ingly greater  zeal  it  inspires.  In  the 
particular  taste  in  question,  Adrian 
was  however  only  exhibiting  one  of 
the  traits  which  belonged  to  the  Scrope  ' 
race,  and  exhibiting  it  in  the  pro- 
nounced manner  natural  to  the  mani- 
festations of  that  strong  blood. 

The  Scrope  descendants  generally, 
not  exclusively  Mr.  Van  Braam,  Mr. 
Button,  Adrian,  and  Scrope  of  Scrope, 
but  a  very  respectable  army  of  kins- 
folk scattered  by  this  time  as  is 
so  commonly  the  case  with  New 
England  families,  into  all  manner  of 
positions  in  life,  and  all  over  the 
United  States,  retained  more  or  less 
of  the  vivid  sentiment  of  kinship  and 
the  pride  of  good  descent,  as  well  as 
the  sturdy  moral  quality,  the  mental 
activity  and  the  liking  for  good  liter- 
ature, which  belonged  to  their  best 
known  Puritan  ancestors.  Indeed, 
even  a  special  trait  of  the  literary 
tendency  of  the  race  —  the  taste  for 
collecting  and  recording  —  remained 
often  distinct  and  recognizable,  as  he- 
reditary in  this  race  of  Yankee  yeomen 
and  men  of  business,  as  the  like  in  the 
old  French  family  of  De  Thou  or  the 
noble  English  house  of  Spencer. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  there 
were  in  existence  a  score  at  least,  and 
very  likely  thrice  as  many,  manu- 
script copies  of  the  document  which 
was  connected  with  Adrian's  visit  to 
the  famous  establishment  of  Mr. 
William  Gowans  in  Nassau  Street,  if 
not  a  cause  of  it ;  and  of  which  he 
had  in  fact  at  the  time  of  that  visit 


52 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


one  such  copy  safely  bestowed  in  his 
pocket-book.  This  document  was  all 
that  was  left  of  the  will  of  Adrian 
Scroope  the  Refugee  ;  and  this  will,  — 
a  holograph,  as  the  collectors  call  it, 
viz.,  a  document  written  throughout 
bv  ir^  maker  or  author,  instead  of 
being  written  by  some  one  else  in 
order  to  be  signed  by  him,  —  and  two 
signatures,  were  in  fact  all  the  exist- 
ing record  evidence  of  his  personal 
presence  in  America,  so  far  as  had 
hitherto  become  known  to  antiquaries. 
There  were  reports,  suspicions,  and 
traditions  in  abundance,  and  of  very 
great  circumstantial  weight ;  but,  as 


The  original  will  was  drawn  upon 
a  page  of  foolscap  paper,  and  the  por- 
tion remaining  was  such  a  strip  as 
would  be  torn  out  of  a  bound  book  by 
some  one  snatching  at  a  leaf  in  haste. 
It  was  the  outer  half,  torn  roughly 
down  the  middle  of  the  leaf  from  top 
to  bottom  ;  and  —  if  this  theory  about 
a  book  was  true,  for  there  was  no  evi- 
dence on  the  subject  —  it  had  been 
on  the  left  hand  page  as  you  open  the 
book,  for  it  was  the  left  hand  half  of 
the  lines  which  had  been  preserved. 
As  antiquaries  know  very  well,  paper 
was  used  economically  in  the  early 
days  of  New  England,  as  if  a  costly 


Mr.  Van  Braam  very  well  knew,  and    thing,  and  this  will  was,  accordingly, 

though  verbose  in  style,  written  in  a 
small,  crowded,  though  clear  and 
clerkly  hand,  wonderfully  firm  and 
steady  for  so  old  a  writer ;  so  that  the 
whole  instrument,  signatures,  attesta- 
tions and  all,  was  easily  contained  upon 


had  explained  to  young  Scrope,  this 
was  the  extent  of  the  certainties. 
Exactly  this  dearth  of  information  it 
was.  which  obviously  enough  was  go- 
ing to  be  the  great  difficulty  in  the 
way  of  establishing  any  American 
claim   by  inheritance  upon  the  very    the  single  page. 


large  sum  which  was  represented  as 
ready  to  be  delivered  to  whomsoever 
should  prove  his  right  as  heir  to  the 
regicide  colonel,  Adrian  Scroope. 

The  will  in  question  had  been 
proved  in  Hartford,  in  1728,  and 
was  executed  the  year  before,  as  ap- 
peared from  that  half  of  the  attesta- 
tion to  that  effect,  which  remained. 
This  date  indicated  that  the  maker  of 


The  original  half  was  in  the  hands 
of  a  well  known  antiquarian  and  col- 
lector, Philetus  Stanley  of  East  Hart- 
ford, —  and  should  naturally  be  there 
still,  as  he  is  himself,  like  Adrian 
Scrope  Chester,  a  descendant  from  the 
Deidamia  named  in  the  will.  What 
was  left  upon  this  mutilated  page 
throws  various  lights  upon  hereditary 
Scrope  traits,  and  is  not  without  inter- 


the  will  had  attained  to  a  full  measure  est  as  a  specimen  of  the  wordy  style  of 
of  that  long  life  which  was  an  almost  its  period,  as  well  as  of  the  thorough 
invariable  possession  of  such  Scroope  manner  in  which  it  was  then  usual 
descendants  as  were  strongly  marked  to  imbue  business  documents  with  a 
with  either  the  physical  or  mental  formal  piety.  It  is  not  meant  that 
traits  of  the  race.  For,  Adrian  Scroope  this  piety  was  insincere,  but  that  it 
the  Refugee,  having  fled  to  New  Eng-  was  superfluous.  Many  an  old  deed 
land  after  his  father's  execution  in  of  those  days  begins,  not 
lGfi'X  was  then  a  man  grown,  accord- 
ing to  the  current  tradition,  and  ac- 
cording to  reason.  If  he  were  twenty 
years  old  in  1660,  he  would  of  course 
be  eighty-seven  in  1727,  the  year  of 
the  execution  of  the  will. 


To  all 
persons  to  whom  these  presents  shall 
concern,"  but  "To  all  Christian 
people  to  whom "  &c.  —  as  if  faith 
need  not  be  kept  with  the  heathen. 
In  like  manner  was  it,  that  the  most 
dishonest   of  merchants    as  much  as 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library.  53 

the  most  honest,  would  in  old  times  notes  of  hand  and  hills    for  groceries, 

put  "Laus  Deo"    at  the   head   of  a  The  hody  of  the  existing   portion 

new  set  of  hooks.     The  same  notion  of  the  so-called  Scrope  Will  was  as 

is  to-day  alive  in  those  who  are  striv-  follows,  omitting  the  witnesses'  names 

ing  for  a  law  to  enforce  the   acknowl-  and  the  attestation  of  proof.     The  tes- 

edgment  of  God  in  all  constitutions,  tator's  signature  was  lost,  all  except 

laws,     conveyances    of    real     estate,  the  first  two  letters. 

20th  of  ye  second  m°  called  April,  1727.     I  Ad 
at  present  sojourning  in  Hartford  on  the  C 
heing  at  this  tyme  sick  and  weake  in  body,  yett 
and  mercy  of  the  Lord  retaining  my  full  unde 
icular  my  purposes  often  heretofore  expressed,  doe  d 
my  last  will  and  testament  as  Followeth  : 

My  miserable  and  sinfull  bodie  to  be  bur 
with  ye  leaste  cost  and  pomp  yl  decently  may 
testimony  against  ye  heathen  custome  of  vaine  show 
beseech  to  be  regarded.     And  my  soul  I  coniitt  un 
in  full  faith  and  trust  in  his  kindness  to  me  a  worm 
fied  that  my  state  be  whatsoever  he  chooseth. 

And  whereas  I  am  of  right  entitled  to  all 
personall  which  was'or  should  have  been  that  of  Ad 
ther  within  ye  realme  of  England,  and  Whereas  I 
nail  lyfe  of  others  and  myselfe  than  for  the  thinges  of 
temporall  in  New  England  is  therefore  but  small : 

And  whereas  my  daughter  Adriana  hath  disob 
things,  and  especially  in  marrying  Philipp  Van  Booraem, 
my  deare  daughter  Deidamia  hath  been  loving  &  ob 
and  in  particular  hath  been  the  staffe  of  my  old  age,  N 
of  my  aforesaid  purposes  already  often  expressed, 
queath  all  my  temporall  estate  both  real  and  person 
soever,  lands,  tenements  and  hereditaments,  whether 
wrongfully  or  otherwise  withheld  from  me,  whether  sit 
bookes  in  ye  chest  with  name  and  armes  of  Scroope 
and  all  goods,  chattels  and  choses  in  action  of  every 
and  that  without  prejudice  or  unkindness  to  my  deare  son 
of  said  Hartford,  presently  contracted  in 
To  my  said  deare  daughter  Deidamia  and  her  he 
fullest  and  amplest  estate  therein  that  may  be. 

Ad 

Many  careful  and  repeated  studies  tractive  problem  to  the  local  antiqua- 
had  been  made  upon  this  mutilated  ries  of  Connecticut  —  a  persistent, 
record ;  for  it  was  a  chief  centre  of  hard-headed,  and  sharp-witted  tribe 
interest  to  a  somewhat  numerous  of  close  reasoners,  shrewd  investigators 
family  connection,  and  it  presented  a  and  determined  searchers,  though 
less  fascinating  though  yet  very  at-    not  numerous. 


54 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


"Oh  few  and  small  their  numbers  were, 
A  handful  of  sharp  men." 

The  conclusions  drawn  from  the 
Will  are  not  very  difficult  to  discern, 
however.  Some  of  them  of  course, 
were  reckoned  certain,  and  others 
uncertain.  Thus :  it  was  considered 
clear  that  the  testator  was  a  person 
of  deep  piety,  after  the  type  of  his 
period ;  strong  and  enduring  in  re- 
sentment, yet  disinterested  and  be- 
neficent ;  that  he  was  of  original  and 
decided  waj^s  of  thinking,  as  was 
shown  by  his  unconventional  notions 
about  funerals  ;  that  he  believed  him- 
self entitled  to  property  of  some 
kind  in  England  5  that  whatever  he 
could  give  was  given  exclusively  to 
his  daughter  Deidamia,  —  undoubt- 
edly that  Deidamia  Throop  who  is  well 
known  to  have  married  John  Chester 
of  Windsor ;  that  he  had  a  son, 
whom  he  had  probabl}'-  provided  for 
as  is  often  the  case,  by  what  are 
called  "  advancements  "  or  gifts  dur- 
ing his  life,  and  who  therefore  took 
nothing  by  this  will ;  that  although 
no  express  words  of  disinheriting 
were  used,  nothing  whatever  was 
given  to  the  disobedient  daughter 
Adriana,  married  to  the  Dutchman 
Philipp  Van  Booraem  or  Van  Braam. 
The  tenacious  character  of  the  Scropes 
was  evidenced  in  such  minor  matters 
as  the  language  and  handwriting, 
which  were  rather  that  of  the  Com- 
monwealth, when  the  writer  was  a 
boy  at  school,  than  of  the  period  of 
Swift  and  Addison,  at  which  the  in- 
strument was  executed.  It  was  clear 
enough  also  that  a  chest  carved  with  the 
Scrope  name  and  arms,  and  containing 
books,  had  been  given  to  Deidamia. 

But  —  however  weighty  the  pre- 
sumptions in  the  case  might  be,  and 
although  the  testator's  given  name 
began  with  the  two  letters  "  Ad  " — 
and  although  both  the  body  of  the 


will  and  these  two  letters,  especially 
the  very  characteristic  and  strikingly 
designed  capital  A  were  admitted  to 
be  in  the  same  handwriting  with  the 
two  existing  signatures  of  Adrian 
Scroope,  and  although  no  other  rea- 
sonable hypothesis  would  account  for 
a  daughter  of  the  uncommon  name 
of  Adriana,  and  although  it  was 
specified  that  the  chest  with  the 
"  bookes  "  bore  the  name  and  arms  of 
Scroope  —  in  spite  of  all  these  cu- 
mulative circumstances,  they  were  cir- 
cumstantial evidence  only,  and  the 
more  cautious  authorities  hesitated 
to  affirm  positively  that  the  will  was 
absolutely  that  of  Adrian  Scroope,  son 
and  heir  of  Colonel  Adrian  Scroope 
the  Regicide  Judge.  It  may,  they 
reasoned,  be  that  of  the  Reverend 
Adeodatus  Throop,  minister  of  a  small 
society  in  New  London  County,  after- 
wards known  as  New  Concord,  and 
by  law  incorporated  as  the  town  of 
Bozrah  in  May  1786  ;  —  and  whose 
son  or  grandson  Benjamin  Throop, 
succeeding  him  in  his  spiritual  charge, 
having  graduated  at  Yale  College 
in  1734,  was  ordained  Jan.  3,  1739, 
and  became  his  successor  in  his 
spiritual  office,  living  to  a  great  age 
and  dying,  still  after  the  good  old 
fashion  the  settled  minister  at  New 
Concord  or  Bozrah,  in  17S5. 

It  is  very  true,  however,  that  an- 
other family  tradition  identified  the 
two,  Adrian  Scroope  and  Adeodatus 
Throop.  This  tradition  was  a  con- 
stant and  unvarying  one,  and  had  be- 
come an  unquestioned  article  of  faith 
among  the  Scrope  descendants.  It 
was,  that  Adrian  Scroope  had  been 
hunted  for  by  the  officers  of  the  crown 
at  the  same  time  with  his  father,  viz. 
in  1660,  and  had  indeed  only  escaped 
from  them  by  great  presence  of  mind 
and  a  shrewd  deceit.  The  party  of 
officers   had,  it   would   appear,  even 


Scrope ;   or,    The  Lost  Library. 


55 


made  their  way  into  the  house  where 
young  Seroope  was.  They  did  not 
know  his  person  however ;  and  with 
a  ready  coolness  remarkable  in  a 
young  fellow,  he  perceived  this,  and 
adroitly  mingled  with  them,  pretend- 
ing to  aid  them  in  their  search.  Fi- 
nally, looking  out  at  a  window,  and 
affecting  to  see  the  man  they  wanted 
he  cried  out  "  There  goes  Seroope  !  " 
flung  himself  out  as  if  in  pursuit,  and 
so  got  off.  He  remained,  apparently, 
in  hiding,  and  crossed  secretly  to  New 
England ;  though  the  time  as  well 
as  the  manner  of  his  doing  so  are 
purely  matters  of  conjecture.  He 
may  have  crossed  in  the  same  ship 
with  the  regicides  Goffe  and  Wh alley, 
who  landed  at  Boston  in  July  1G60. 
There  is  not  however  the  remotest 
trace  of  his  presence  in  New  England, 
either,  until  the  year  1666,  when  he 
must  have  been  living  at  Hartford 
under  his  own  name,  for  the  signa- 
ture at  the  end  of  this  chapter,  and 
which  is  a  fac-simile  furnished  by  the 
kindness  of  that  accomplished  histori- 
cal scholar  C.  J.  Hoadly  Esq.,  State  li- 
brarian of  Connecticut,  is  upon  a  docu- 
ment dated  March  11,  of  that  year,  and 
he  is  there  described  as  "  of  Hartford." 
The  other  of  his  two  known  signa- 
tures is  of  about  the  same  time.  He 
had  therefore  then  passed  safely 
through  the  time  of  the  first  pursuit 
of  Goffe  and  Wh  alley,  in  the  fall  and 
winter  of  1660-61,  and  had  thought 
it  safe  to  appear  in  his  own  name. 
Whatever  was  the  immediate  occasion 
of  his  adopting  that  of  Throop  instead 
(taking  it  for  granted  that  he  did  so, 
according  to  this  distinct  and  positive 


family  tradition),  the  reason  must 
necessarily  have  been  fear  of  legal 
proceedings  by  the  crown.  Reason 
enough;  for  those  were  the  clays  when 
no  counsel  was  allowed  to  a  prisoner 
on  a  criminal  charge ;  and  when  if 
the  king  and  his  ministers  so  required, 
a  crown  prosecution  for  high  treason 
was  all  but  certain  death.  And  the 
same  consideration  continued  almost 
or  quite  as  powerful  not  only  under 
that  hog  and  murderer  Chief  Justice 
Jeffries  in  the  reign  of  James  II.,  but 
even  for  almost  a  century  later.  It 
was  barely  over  a  century  ago  that  a 
storm  blew  down  the  last  skull  from 
Temple  Bar,  in  1772,  — four  years  be- 
fore our  own  Declaration  of  Indepen- 
dence. It  is  no  wonder,  then,  if  the 
imperilled  refugee  remained  quietly  in 
the  safe  concealment  of  an  assumed 
name,  (a  concealment  rendered  pecu- 
liarly safe  by  the  fact  that  near  by, 
in  the  town  of  Lebanon,  there  was  ac- 
tually established  a  well  known  fami- 
ly of  the  name  of  Throop),  and  in  an 
obscure  Connecticut  village,  to  the 
end  of  his  days.  One  of  more  ambi- 
tious, vain  or  greedy  temper  might 
have  risked  attempting  to  regain  the 
wealth  and  high  position  that  justly 
belonged  to  him  in  England.  But 
the  Scropes  were  proud,  not  vain ; 
nor  did  they  greatly  feel  the  want  of 
either  riches  or  honor ;  and  there  is 
reason  enough  to  believe  that  the  ob- 
scure and  silent  life  which  he  lived 
was  filled  with  good  works  and  con- 
tented studies  and  meditations,  such 
as  would  afford  at  least  as  much  real 
enjoyment  as  such  a  character  could 
find  in  any  higher  position. 


'<ut  Scmfif 


56 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


CHAPTER   X. 

"  Gowaxs'."  was  only  a  few  steps 
from  ]\Ir.  Button's  office.  Adrian  bad 
only  to  go  a  block  or  two  north- 
ward, and  to  enter  the  door  of  a 
roomy  establishment  on  tbe  western 
side  of  Nassau  Street  between  Ann 
and  Beekman  —  being  in  fact  at  pres- 
ent tbe  southernmost  of  tbe  three 
partitions  of  the  ground-floor  occu- 
pied by  the  American  News  Company 
—  and  he  had  arrived.  The  street 
front  was  filled  by  two  immense  win- 
dows  with  the  door  between.     Both 


PART  III. 

that  he  was  an  embodiment  or  efflo- 
rescence of  all  the  mind  in  Mr.  Gow- 
ans'  establishment  and  of  all  its  dirt 
too  —  the  offspring,  so  to  speak,  of  a 
marriage  between  tbe  old  gentle- 
man's literature  and  his  litter.  But 
carefully  as  Adrian  turned  over  the 
trays-full  of  small  volumes  and  scru- 
tinized one  by  one  tbe  titles  of  the 
books  in  the  windows,  not  one  did  he 
find  that  was  worth  money  to  him,  or 
even  shelf-room ;  and  remembering 
tbe  auction  sale  of  tbe  day  before,  be 
said  to  himself  that  it  was  no  wonder 
the  Hebrew  bidder  restricted  himself 


windows  were  extremely  dusty,  and  to  two  cents.  But  truly,  what  fear- 
upon  the  space  close  behind  the  glass,  ful  stuff  it  was  !  Old  weather-beaten 
where  in  a  dry  goods  shop  would  have    copies  of  school  arithmetics  and  spell- 


been  displayed  some  artistic  array  — 
or  dishevelment  —  of  glossy  fabrics, 
were  arranged  —  or  rather  flung — a 
few  dozen  books  or  sets.  Close  in 
front  of  each  window,  outside,  was  a 
large  board  or  rough  tray  on  trestles, 
filled  each  with  a  heap  of  weather 
worn  books,  and  bearing  the  enticing 
legend,  on  a  square  of  "  straw  board," 
"Ten  cents  each."  Within  the  open- 
ing of  the  doorway,  and  bestriding 
tbe  threshold  at  an  informal  angle, 
was  a  smaller  similar  tray,  holding 
books  a  grade  more  valuable  —  or 
rather  less  worthless,  —  whose  price 
was  Fifteen  Cents.  Adrian,  with  the 
genuine  book-collector's  instinct,  stop- 


ing-books,  thickly  arabesqued  with 
the  ingenuous  devices  of  artistic  child- 
hood ;  odd  volumes  of  G.  P.  B.  James' 
novels ;  poor  thin  books  of  verses 
published  thirty  years  ago  at  the 
author's  expense,  and  falling  into  an 
instantaneous  oblivion  —  infants  too 
weak  to  bear  even  the  effort  of  birth ; 
one  or  two  Annual  Reports  of  the 
Smithsonian  Institution;  a  mish- 
mash of  books  perfectly  unknown, 
perfectly  valueless  except  by  avoirdu- 
pois weight,  very  dead  cats  of  books 
except  that  they  keep  better,  and  yet, 
many  of  them  intrinsically  every  whit 
as  desirable  as  some  "  excessively 
rare"  volumes  famous  in  catalogues. 


ped  and  examined  all  three  of  these    Indeed     they   would    be   excessively 


trays,  and  the  contents  of  the  window- 
seats  too,  closely  watched  the  while 
by  the  guardian  angel  of  the  spot,  a 
genius  loculi  or  Nassau  Street  cherub 
of  about  twelve  years  old,  whose  face 
was  sharp  enough  and  his  garments 


rare  themselves  if  anybody  would  only 
want  them. 

The  books  in  the  windows  were 
pretty  much  a  repetition  of  the  same 
story,  a  few  grades  higher  in  the  scale. 
There  was  a  set  of  Bees'  Cyclopaedia; 


ragged  and  dirty  enough  to  suggest    one  of  the  seventh  edition  of  the  Ency- 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


57 


clopoedia  Britannica ;  an  awful  clean 
new  set  of  the  Horse  Hornileticse,  or 
sermons,  of  the  Reverend  Charles 
Simeon,  in  twenty-one  volumes  octavo, 
as  enticing  as  a  row  of  twenty-one 
clean  new  skulls,  and  above  them  on 
a  placard,  the  following  recommenda- 
tion, copied  out  of  Bonn's  General 
Catalogue,  page  1778 : 

"  A  monument  of  pastoral  labor  and 
piety,  with  much  judgment  on  doctrinal 
subjects,  and  useful  practical  application." 

BlCKERSTETH. 

A  monument,  indeed  !  and  over  a 
whole  cemetery  of  dead  sermons  at 
once,  reflected  Adrian;  and  —  for  he 
was  a  thoughtful  observer  of  words  — 
he  reflected  further,  What  a  circum- 
spect commendation  !  It  implies  that 
the  "labor  and  piety"  are  dead  and 
buried;  itdoesn't  say  the  "judgment" 
is  good.  How  could  he  have  said 
less?  It's  a  real  model  for  recom- 
mendations !  Next  to  this  impressive 
"  monument  "  was  a  pirated  Brussels 
copy  of  the  third  edition  of  Brunet's 
Manuel  clu  Libraire,  and  a  good  look- 
ing Paris  copy  of  the  fourth  edition  ; 
but  no  signs  of  the  fifth.  And  so  on, 
and  so  on ;  but  Mr.  Gowans'  collec- 
tion of  books  was  that  day  the  largest 
collection  of  published  works  on  the 
continent  of  America,  reaching  about 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  vol- 
umes. Adrian  cannot  go  through 
them  all  at  this  rate,  unless  he  has  a 
number  of  years  to  spare  ;  he  must  go 
in. 

He  went  in.  The  sudden  change 
at  entering  from  even  a  Nassau  Street 
daylight  into  this  vast  cavern  made 
its  gloom  doubly  obscure.  He  pene- 
trated along  a  narrow  alley  at  one 
side  of  a  broad  table,  that  stood  in  all 
the  front  of  the  great  store,  heaped 
full  and  high  with  books,  finding 
hardly  room  to  walk  between  its  table- 
land  and   superincumbent  book-Cor- 


dilleras and  the  crowded  shelves  on 
the  wall,  while  his  feet,  as  he  stepped, 
grazed  or  caught  against  piles  and 
piles  of  books  or  pamphlets,  stacked 
along  on  both  sides  in  the  angles  at  the 
floor.  Working  thus  some  twenty  or 
thirty  feet  back,  the  gloom  always 
growing  darker  as  he  went,  he  found 
a  small  open  space  back  of  the  mighty 
table  or  platform  just  mentioned,  and 
in  the  middle  of  the  breadth  of  the 
great  room.  In  this  space  was  a  great 
rusty  old  cylinder  stove,  with  a  cool 
sort  of  fire  burning  away  down  in  the 
inside,  so  that  you  could  feel  it  if  you 
reached  a  good  way  in.  Against  the 
north  side  of  the  room,  abreast  of  this 
stove,  was  a  small  desk,  with  a  dirty  lit- 
ter of  pamphlets,  and  scraps  of  paper, 
a  dried-up  looking  inkstand,  and  one 
or  two  old  quill  pens.  Enthroned  upon 
a  broken  backed  wooden  chair  before 
this  desk  sat  Mr.  Gowans  himself,  the 
Pluto  of  this  Orcus,  with  his  back  to 
the  desk  however,  his  long  legs  dis- 
tributed before  him,  his  old  stove-pipe 
hat  on  his  head  and  pulled  down  over 
his  eyes  just  as  it  was  at  the  auction, 
and  his  hands  clasped  together  behind 
the  back  of  his  neck,  fingers  inter- 
woven and  thumbs  down,  so  that  his 
elbows  projected  at  either  side  like 
frame-bones  for  wings.  In  this  rest- 
ful and  philosophic  attitude,  he  was 
conversing  with  a  customer,  and  did 
not  so  much  as  turn  his  head  at  Adri- 
an's approach. 

"  Have  you  a  copy  of  Caulfield's 
History  of  the  High  Court  of  Jus- 
tice ?  "  asked  Adrian. 

"No,"  said  the  old  man,  promptly, 
and  gruffly,  shaking  his  head  at  the 
same  time,  like  Jove,  by  way  of  ratifi- 
cation. 

"  A  copy  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Lee's 
Connecticut  Election  Sermon  ?  " 

"No.     Haven't  got  it." 

Here  the  person  who  had  been  talk- 


58 


JScrope  ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


ing  with  Mr.  Gowans  interrupted, 
asking  with  good  natured  and  courte- 
ous jocularity, 

"  Didn't  you  know  that  Mr.  Gowans 
has  no  books  at  all  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Adrian,  amused  ; 
"  I  knew  no  better  than  to  suppose  it 
was  precisely  his  business  to  have 
them." 

"  Well,  I've  dealt  with  Mr.  Gowans 
for  twenty  years,  and  I've  never  heard 
him  acknowledge  to  a  chance  cus- 
tomer that  he  had  a  book." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand,"  said 
Adrian. 

"  Why,  it's  perfectly  easy.  It's 
cheaper  for  him  to  say  No  and  be  done 
with  it,  than  to  hunt  for  a  week 
through  two  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand volumes  and  not  find  the  book 
after  all." 

Here  the  speaker  interrupted  him- 
self suddenly,  to  give  a  scrutinizing 
look  at  the  young  man,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Well,  I  declare,  if  you're  not  the 
very  person  I  was  praying  for.  Was 
it  not  you  who  was  so  good  as  to  give 
me  a  volume  of  pamphlets  at  Ball's 
yesterday  ?  " 

Adrian,  looking  closely  in  his  turn, 
and  recognizing  the  person  called 
Sibley,  —  a  dark  complesioned  middle- 
sized  man  he  was,  with  a  pleasant  in- 
telligent face  and  voice,  a  lively  man- 
ner and  very  bright  eyes,  answered, 
Yes. 

"  Couldn't  see  you  at  all,  at  first, 
in  this  old  sepulchre,"  continued  he. 
"Well,  you're  exactly  the  man  I 
wanted  to  see.  And  —  by  your  leave, 
Mr.  Gowans,"  he  interjected,  — 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  carelessly  returned  the 
monarch  of  the  cavern,  at  the  same 
time  turning  round  and  beginning  to 
make  entries  on  a  loose  sheet  of  paper 
on  his  little  old  desk,  by  a  dim  gas- 
light. The  speaker  continued, — 
"  Well  then,  I  know  enough  more 


about  Mr.  Gowans'  stock  than  he  does 
himself,  and  if  you'll  tell  me  what  you 
want  I'll  show  it  with  pleasure, 
have  to  hunt  here  very  often." 

"  Why,"  returned  Adrian,  a  cer- 
tain ridiculous  habit  of  quoting  com- 
ing upon  him,  "  then  to  use  the  words 
of  the  poet,  you  have  '  pu'd  the 
Gowans  fine,'  no  doubt,  —  all  of  them 
I'm  afraid  I  stand  but  little  chance. 
What  can  the  man  do  that  cometh 
after  the  King  ?  " 

The  other  looked  a  little  unhappy 
at  the  quotation  —  it  might  be  at  the 
abominablehess  of  the  pun,  it  might 
be  only  the  discomfort  of  one  who 
don't  know  exactly  what  to  make  of 
what  is  said  to  him ;  but  he  passed  it 
over,  and  not  without  some  satisfaction 
at  the  compliment  that  followed,  he 
answered, 

"  Well,  I  don't  say  but  that  I 
know  what  I'm  about.  Twenty  years 
of  close  work  ought  to  give  me  some 
knowledge  of  the  book  business.  But 
I  don't  want  every  thing,  —  indeed  I 
don't  want  any  thing  in  the  book  line, 
except  for  trade.  Perhaps  I  can 
make  some  money  by  you." 

"  Well,  —  as  to  Caulfield,  then,  and 
that  election  sermon  ?  " 

"You  will  hardly  find  Caulfield 
short  of  London ;  it's  the  merest 
chance  if  there's  a  copy  for  sale  on 
this  side  ;  it's  not  a  common  book.  As 
for  Mr.  Gowans'  collection  of  Election 
Sermons,  I'll  show  you  those,  and  you 
can  look  them  through  yourself.  Come 
this  way." 

He  turned  and  plunged  into  another 
narrow  alley,  between  two  lofty  and 
interminable  looking  ranges  of  crowd- 
ed and  over-crowded  shelves,  still  with 
other  piles  on  piles  of  books  stacked 
all  along  upon  the  floor,  that  led  back 
still  further  into  the  dark  depths  of 
the  great  room,  and  Adrian  followed. 
An  assistant  or  two  was  at  work  cata- 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


59 


loguin g,  niched  in  some  obscure  nook  ; 
a  step-ladder,  hardly  more  silent, 
leaned  near  one  of  them  ;  and  one  or 
two  customers  were  quietly  bunting 
along  the  shelves,,  a  small  boy  haunt- 
ing each  of  them,  by  way  of  watch- 
dog. Like  the  worthy  Roman  gentle- 
men so  handsomely  complimented  by 
Mark  Anton}'-,  these  book-hunters  are 
all  honorable  men,  and  of  course  for 
that  very  reason  can  have  no  objection 
to  be  watched ! 

On  a  shelf  in  a  corner  almost  at  the 
furthest  extremity  of  the  room,  and 
very  dimly  lit  by  a  window  opening 
on  that  narrow  and  ill-flavored  street- 
let,  of  old  running  past  the  rear  of 
the  Park  Theatre  and  thence  named 
Theatre  Alley,  —  a  window  half  shut 
in  by  piles  of  books,  and  almost 
crusted  within  and  without  with  im- 
memorial dirt,  —  Sibley  pointed  out 
the  desired  collection  ;  a  row  perhaps 
four,  feet  long,  of  mingled  volumes  and 
pamphlets,  some  upright,  some  leaning 
over,  some  piled  sideways,  all  dirty. 
Adrian  and  his  guide  both  inspected 
the  array,  item  by  item,  without  find- 
ing the  Reverend  Mr.  Lee's  Election 
Sermon. 

"  It  isn't  here,"  said  Adrian.  "  One 
more  proof  that  if  you  know  exactly 
what  you  want,  you  can't  find  it. 
Jonathan  Lee's  election  sermon,  1766, 
I  have ;  it  is  Andrew  Lee's,  1795, 
that  I  want." 

"  Andrew  Lee  "  —  repeated  Sibley. 
"  I  sold  a  copy  of  his  sermon  at  the 
funeral  of  Reverend  Benjamin 
Throop,  1785,  the  other  day." 

"  Did  you  ?  "  asked  Adrian  with 
interest,  —  "  to  whom  ?  I  know  very 
well  there's  such  a  sermon,  and  I 
want  it." 

"  I  guess  you  can  get  it,"  said  Sib- 
ley, significantly. 

"  What  will  it  cost  ?  " 

"  Why,  —  the  fact  is,"  said  Sibley, 


not  without  hesitation,  —  "  it's  a 
pretty  good  customer  of  mine  who 
bought  it,  and  he  don't  care  about 
money.  He's  a  collector.  You  are 
too,  aren't  you?" 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Adrian  frankly  ;  "  I 
have  worked  a  little  at  genealogy. 
But  I've  neither  the  money  nor  the 
knowledge  nor  the  time  for  collecting. 
I'd  like  to  have,  though,  Mr.  Sibley." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  other,  laughing, 
"Sibley's  only  my  buying  name  at 
the  auctions,  like  Chase  for  Gowans. 
I  am  Andrew  Purvis,  very  much  at 
your  service. —  Didn't  mean  to  rhyme, 
either." 

"It's  a  capital  name  for  politeness, 
Mr.  Purvis,"  replied  Adrian  laughing 
with  him  at  the  unintended  jingle  — 
"  I  know  the  name  very  well  as  con- 
nected with  the  book  business,  and 
I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you ;  and 
what  would  tempt  your  customer,  if 
money  won't  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Mr.  Purvis,  "  my  man 
won't  part  with  any  thing  he  has,  if 
he  can  help  it ;  he'd  rather  buy  more. 
It  appears  he  happens  to  want  the 
very  pamphlet  that  you  took  out  of 
the  volume  you  bought  yesterday.  1 
thought  it  as  well  to  just  take  you 
one  side  rather  than  talk  about  it 
before  Gowans.  Now,  —  what  will 
you  take  for  it  ?  If  you  are  working 
at  genealogy,  though,  you  will  want 
it?" 

"What  will  he  give?"  asked 
Adrian  in  reply.  —  Scrope  is  not  a 
trading  name,  to  be  sure  ;  but  when 
you  are  in  trade  you  must  do  as  the 
tradesmen  do. 

"  Well,"  rejoined  the  book-dealer, 
"  I  suppose  Five  Dollars  is  a  very  high 
price  for  a  pamphlet  ?  " 

Adrian  smiled  :  "  I  won't  deny^' 
he  said,  "  that  I  know  what  a  great 
prize  I  happened  upon.  I  was  ready 
to  go  up  to  thirty  dollars  for  it  yes- 


CO 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


terday —  every  cent  I  had  in  the 
world  just  then.  It  is  the  unique 
Scrope  Genealogy,  that  everybody 
has  thought  was  lost,  and  that  I  had 
no  more  idea  of  finding  then  and 
there,  than  of  finding  the  lost  dec- 
ades of  Livy." 

Mr.  Purvis  looked  rather  caught, 
but  made  the  best  of  the  situation. 
'•You  are  right,"  said  he;  "I  beg 
your  pardon.  I  ought  not  to  have 
offered  you  five  dollars.  But  I  can't 
help  mv  trading  habits,  I  suppose.  I 
had  an  unlimited  order  for  that  volume ; 
though  I  don't  think  I  should  have 
dared  go  over  fifty  dollars.  I  ought 
not  to  have  been  out  of  the  room." 

"  I'm  glad  you  were,  for  my  part," 
said  Adrian.  "  But  I'll  tell  you  what 
'tis,  Mr.  Purvis,  I  don't  wish  to  part 
with  the  pamphlet  just  now,  and 
besides,  I  am  very  busy  over  it  to-day 
and  to-morrow  in  particular.  If  I 
should  be  willing,  I'll  give  you  the 
refusal  of  it,  and  in  a  few  days  I'll 
send  you  an  address  ;  there  is  a  pos- 
sibility of  my  changing  it,  or  I  would 
give  it  now.  And  if  I  won't  sell  my 
pamphlet,  I  suppose  your  man  won't 
sell  his  Throop  sermon  ?  " 

"  I*m  afraid  not ;  hut  if  you  like 
I'll  try  to  find  you  another  copy. 
That's  not  unique,  at  any  rate." 

Adrian  thanked  the  obliging  dealer, 
whose  manner  had  in  it  something  so 
agreeable  and  sincerely  friendly  that 
it  greatly  attracted  the  young  man. 
It  is  possible  that  the  liking  was 
mutual ;  for  either  from  some  such 
reason  or  perhaps  only  with  a  view 
to  establish  a  new  customer,  or  pos- 
sibly merely  because  business  was 
not  very  pressing,  Mr.  Purvis  was  in 
no  haste  to  go,  and  rather  encouraged 
the  questions  which  Adrian  was  ready 
enough  to  put,  about  the  vast  collec- 
tion of  Mr.  Gowans,  about  the  old 
gentleman  himself,  and  about  books, 


collecting  and  collectors.  He  ex- 
plained to  Adrian  among  other  things 
the  curious  phenomenon  of  the  haunt- 
ing boys  already  referred  to,  telling 
him  plainly  that  it  was  an  indispen- 
sable compliance  with  the  weakness 
of  human  nature. 

"  Kleptomania,"  said  Purvis,  "  I 
suppose  they'd  call  it  in  court  if  a 
minister  was  caught  at  it,  as  I  caught 
a  minister  the  other  day  in  my  own 
shop." 

"  But  did  you  let  him  off  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes.  I  couldn't  spend  the 
time  and  trouble  to  have  him  pun- 
ished. I  told  him  however  that  if 
he  ever  came  into  the  place  again  I'd 
put  him  in  jail." 

As  they  talked,  they  were  looking 
along  the  shelves  in  a  desultory  way, 
and  just  at  the  account  of  the  min- 
ister's delinquency,  Adrian  espied  a 
copy  of  the  curious  gossipy  "  Histo- 
riettes"  of  Tallemant  de  Beaux. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  the  anecdote  of 
the  old  painter  Du  Moustier  and 
Monsignor  Pamphilio  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Xo."   said  Purvis. 

"  Well,   let    me    read  it  to  you," 


said  Adi 


it's  a  case  exactly  in 


point ;  "  and  taking  down  the  volume 
he  read  aloud  in  extempore  English 
the  queer  old  story,  which  is  in  sub- 
stance as  follows  (see  p.  1G6  of  vol. 
4  of  the  edition  of  Brussels,  1834,  by 
Monmerque  and  others)  :  Du  Mous- 
tier, in  his  day  a  famous  portrait 
painter  of  Paris,  and  who  was  born 
about  1550,  was  a  dear  lover  of 
books,  rude  in  speech  and  quick  jf 
hand.  As  a  celebrated  painter,  he 
had  many  visitors ;  and  under  his 
bookshelves,  by  way  of  a  delicate  pre- 
cautionary hint,  he  had  painted  the 
words  "The  Devil  take  book -bor- 
rowers." But  in  particular ;  one  day 
the  Cardinal  Barberini,  the  Pope's 
legate  to  France,  visited  Du  Moustier 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


61 


and  inspected  his  collections.  Mon- 
signor  Pamphilio,  afterwards  Inno- 
cent X.,  was  at  the  head  of  the  cardi- 
nal's suite,  and  finding  on  Du  Mous- 
tier's  table  a  fine  copy  of  the  superb 
London  edition  of  the  History  of 
the  Council  of  Trent,  he  said  to 
himself,  "  Truly,  a  fine  thing  for 
such  a  fellow  to  have  such  a  rare  book 
as  that !  "  And  he  quietly  took  the 
book  and  slid  it  under  his  gown.  But 
the  little  man  (says  Tallemant),  who 
had  been  on  the  lookout,  flew  into  a 
rage,  and  telling  the  legate  that  ."he 
was  greatly  obliged  for  the  honor  of 
the  visit,  but  that  it  was  shameful  for 
him  to  have  thieves  in  his  compa- 
ny ;  "  he  forthwith  seized  Pamphilio, 
snatched  the  book  away  from  him,  and 
calling  him  by  a  very  unpleasant 
name  indeed,  he  fairly  flung  him  by 
the  shoulders  out  of  his  door. 

"  That's  excellent,"  said  the  amused 
dealer ;  "  and  perfectly  in  character  — 
I  know  a  dozen  worthy  gentlemen 
that  couldn't  be  trusted  alone  in  the 
dark  with  a  rare  book.  Let  me  see 
a  moment,  please,  —  oh,  —  why,  can 
you  translate  off  hand  as  neatly  as 
that  ?  " 

"I've  read  the  story  before,"  said 
Adrian;  "and  French  is  pretty  easy 
to  tell  stories  from." 

"  Very  good,  very  good  indeed," 
repeated  the  friendly  Mr.  Purvis  ;  "  I 
declare  I  believe  I'll  make  you  an 
offer  to  translate  that  book  for  publi- 
cation. But  as  I  was  saying,  there's 
my  customer  that  wanted  this  Scrope 
Genealogy.  And  by  the  way,  how 
the  mischief  did  you  come  to  know 
that  it  was  in  that  volume?" 

"Pure  chance,"  said  Adrian  — 
"  pure  chance.  One  of  those  coinci- 
dences that  are  happening  every  day 
in  fact,  and  that  it  would  not  do  to 
put  into  a  novel  because  everybody 
would  say  it  was  altogether  too  im- 


probable. I  went  in  there  a  little 
before  the  sale  and  found  the  books 
laid  out  for  examination,  and  I  just 
looked  through  a  lot  of  them  and 
found  this.  I  remember  thinking  I 
must  be  rather  a  suspicious  looking 
chap,  for  there  was  a  big  Irish  por- 
ter or  watchman  or  something  on 
guard,  and  I  couldn't  have  stolen  a 
pin,  he  followed  me  up  so.  I  guess 
they  know  about  collectors  in  that 
office  too !  " 

"  Indeed  they  do,"  said  Purvis ; 
"  and  in  spite  of  them  there's  hardly 
a  sale  of  any  importance  where  they 
don't  lose  some  valuable  books  off  the 
show-tables,  in  spite  of  that  sharp  old 
Irish  watch-dog  of  theirs  !  " 

"  Well,  how  did  your  customer  know 
about  the  pamphlet?"  said  Adrian. 

"Why,"  replied  Mr.  Purvis,  laugh- 
ing, "  he  was  in  the  city  himself  the 
day  before,  and  he  was  nosing  about 
in  there  too,  and  he  found  the  pam- 
phlet just  as  you  did,  and  moreover,  he 
tried  as  hard  as  he  could  to  steal  it. 
He  told  me  all  about  it  in  a  letter  that 
I  got  only  this  morning.  You  don't 
know  who  'tis,  so  it  won't  do  any  harm 
for  me  to  tell  that  much.  He  was  in 
a  terrible  excitement  about  it.  He 
wiggled  round  there  for  more  than 
half  an  hour,  and  the  fact  is  he  actu- 
ally would  have  carried  the  volume 
off  if  Pat  hadn't  fairly  seized  him 
very  much  as  your  old  Frenchman  did 
his  thief  and  actually  twisted  the  book 
out  of  his  hands.  As  it  happened 
none  of  the  partners  were  in  the  place, 
or  he  would  have  seen  them  and  got 
it,  I'm  sure.  There  was  a  regular 
string  of  coincidences  in  your  favor ; 
for  he  would  have  come  back  again 
after  it  the  same  afternoon,  but  he 
found  a  despatch  at  his  hotel  that 
forced  him  to  hurry  home  out  of  town 
on  some  business.  He  telegraphed  to- 
me instantly  from  Hartford,  and  wrote 


62 


Scrope  ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


by  the  first  mail,  and  he  feels  dread- 
fully over  losing  it,  you  may  be  sure." 
"  How  do  you  suppose  that  pam- 
phlet came  to  be  in  that  lot  of  books  ?  " 
asked  Adrian,  by  a  very  natural  tran- 
sition of  interest. 

"  A  good  many  of  those  books  be- 
longed to  old  Doctor  Gideon  Bulkley 
of  Middlefield;  and,  you  know, — or 
you  don't  know  —  his  collection  had 
been  in  the  family  for  four  generations, 
and  neither  the  old  man  nor  his  father 
would  ever  let  one  human  being  see 
what  was  in  it.  They  never  wrote  or 
made  any  mark  on  a  book,  either  of 
them ;  so  that  it's  difficult  to  trace 
with  accuracy ;  but  I  have  no  doubt 
whatever  in  my  own  mind  that  the 
pamphlet  was  an  early  copy  direct 
from  the  author  to  the  Bulkley  of 
the  day,  and  so  escaped  the  fire  that 
burned  the  edition,  and  remained  un- 
known all  this  time  until  Bulkley 's 
death,  when  it  was  sent  for  sale." 

"That's  a  good  idea,  not  to  mark 
one's  books,"  commented  Adrian  ;  "  I 
knew  an  excellent  old  gentleman,  a 
lawyer,  who  never  wrote  his  name 
in  his  law-books,  and  whenever  he 
found  a  law-book  in  any  of  his  friends' 
offices  with  no  name  in  it,  he  always 
carried  it  off  as  his  own.  He  had  a 
valuable  law-library  at  his  death." 

"  Now,"    said     Purvis  —  "  by   the 
way,  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  by  what 
name  ma)'  I  call  you  ?  " 
"  Chester." 

—  "  Mr.  Chester,  you  have   never 
been  in  Gowans'  place  before  ?  " 
"  No." 

"  Well ;  as  you  are  an  appreciative 
person,  you  must  see  the  catacombs. 
I'll  take  you  round  once,  and  then 
you  can  come  in  and  hunt  whenever 
you  like.  Gowans  never  will  look 
for  a  book,  and  nobody  can  get  any 
thing  of  him  except  by  finding  it 
one's   self  and    bringing   it  to   him. 


Unless,  that  is,  one  of  his  clerks  hap- 
pens to  know  about  it,  or  unless  some 
particularly  good-natured  moment  or 
some  special  reason  prevails  with  the 
old  man.     But  come  down  stairs." 

And  pausing  at  the  head  of  a  wide 
stairway,  hidden  under  another  great 
platform  heaped  high  with  books,  he 
took  up  a  small  lamp,  that  stood  ready, 
lit  it  with  a  match,  and  descended, 
marshalling  Adrian  downwards  into 
a  darkness  as  of  the  oubliettes  of 
Vincennes. 

The  store,*  Adrian  thought,  was  the 
dreariest  place  he  had  ever  seen  ;  but 
it  was  a  bright  and  homelike  abode  in 
comparison  with  the  basement  which 
they  now  entered.     This  was  a  cellar 
as  large,  and   nearly  as  high,  as  the 
store  above  it.     It  had  absolutely  no 
window  light,  and  the  feeble  oil  lamp 
which  Mr.  Purvis  carried  served  only 
to  show  how  thick  the  darkness  was. 
But  the  dealer,  with  an  assured  step, 
briskly  descended  the  dirty  old  stair- 
case,  cumbered   on    either   side  with 
heaps  of  books   piled  on   each   stair. 
As  they  reached  the  bottom,  a  great 
stack  of  books,  heaped  indiscriminate- 
ly like  the  fallen   bricks  of  the  Birs 
Nimroud  upon  another  broad  platform, 
and  rising  almost  to  the  ceiling,  con- 
fronted   them.     But    Purvis    turned 
short  to  the  right,  crossed  to  the   side 
of  the  room,  and  engaging   himself 
intrepidly  in  an  alley  if  possible  still 
narrower  than  that  which  skirted  the 
up-stairs  store,  passed  on,  close  along 
by  the  southern  wall,  Adrian  follow- 
ing.    Ever  and  anon  the  guide  held 
up  his  lamp  at  one  side  or  the  other, 
showing  only  the  same  interminable 
shelf    after    shelf,    shelf    after  shelf, 
each  double-ranked,  piled,  crammed, 
wedged,  with  books,  numberless,  use- 
less, worthless.    As  up-stairs,  not  only 
were  the  shelves  at  either  hand  intol- 
erably full  clear  up  to   the   ceiling, 


Scrape;   or,   The  Lost  Library. 


63 


but  a  talus,  as  the  geologists  call  it, 
or  steep  slope  as  if  of  fragments  fallen 
from  the  precipice  at  either  hand, 
lined  each  side  of  the  path.  Adrian, 
an  imaginative  fellow,  remembered 
the  awful  stories  of  men  lost  in  the 
catacombs  of  Paris  and  found  dead 
and  rat-eaten  weeks  after  in  some  cor- 
ner among  the  bones ;  and  the  sti- 
fling accounts  of  travellers  of  their 
scratching  and  crawling  and  wriggling 
along  endless  passages  through  the 
masses  of  mummies  in  the  vast  sub- 
terranean pits  of  Egypt,  eyes  and 
mouth  and  nose  and  lungs  insuffera- 
bly choked  with  the  floating  dust  of 
corpses  three  thousand  years  old  ;  and 
he  asked,  making  a  joke  of  it, 

"  Would  they  ever  find  us  if  the 
light  should  go  out?" 

"  Dear  me,  no,"  was  the  consoling 
reply,  "  not  unless  it  was  by  mere 
accident.  Nobody  would  come  to  look 
for  us.  I  could  live  here  ten  years, 
I  believe,  for  all  anybody's  looking 
after  me.  There's  a  dozen  dried  book- 
hunters  lying  dead  in  the  corners 
down  here  for  what  I  know." 

There  was  a  grave-like  chill  in  the 
air,  and  a  faint  flavor  of  dry  cold  dust, 
very  dreary.  "  This  is  the  Catacomb, 
the  Potter's  Field,  the  bone-yard,  of 
literature,"  observed  Mr.  Purvis. 
"  There  is  nothing  beyond  except 
Stockwell's  old  paper  shop  and  then 
the  paper-mill." 

"  The  auction  may  stand  for  a 
slaughter-house,"  observed  Adrian ; 
"  then  comes  the  graveyard,  and  after 
that,  the  resurrection  into  clean  new 
white  paper.  But  wait  a  moment, 
please  —  here's  something  I  want." 

The  flitting  gleam  of  the  lamp  had 
shone  for  an  instant  on  the  gilt  backs 
of  four  goodly  quartos,  where  Adri- 
an's quick  eye  had  read  the  name  of 
Behmen.  He  took  down  the  first 
volume  and  opened  it,  and  then  ex- 


amined the  others.  It  was  a  good 
clean  copy  of  the  Reverend  William 
Law's  translation  (London,  1774— 
1781)  of  the  writings  of  "  the  Teuton- 
ick  Theosopher,"  as  he  calls  the  mys- 
tical old  German,  complete,  with  all 
the  strange  overlaid  engravings  and 
cabalistical  diagrams. 

"  There,"  said  Adrian,  "  I'm  going 
to  have  that.  I  want  to  give  it  to 
somebody  I  know,  who  will  enjoy  it 
like  a  honeymoon." 

"  One  volume  a  week  will  just 
cover  his  month,"  observed  Purvis. 
"  Well,  lug  it  up-stairs.  I  don't 
think  Gowans  '11  want  much  for  it." 

So  Adrian  took  the  set  on  his  arm, 
and  having  now  nearly  completed 
the  circuit  of  the  front  or  Nassau- 
street  half  of  the  cave,  they  got  back 
to  the  stairway  by  the  cross  alley  into 
which  it  opened. 

"  The  back  half  is  only  the  front 
half  over  again,"  said  Purvis,  as  he 
blew  out  the  lamp  in  going  up  the 
stairs.  They  returned  to  the  old 
desk  where  Mr.  Gowans  was  still 
scratching  away  at  his  scraps  of 
paper,  and  Adrian,  laying  down  his 
four  volumes,  asked  what  he  should 
pay  for  them. 

"  Five  dollars,"  said  the  old  man, 
carelessly,  glancing  at  the  title  of 
Vol.  1. —  "  I've  had  'em  ten  years,  and 
glad  to  get  'em  out  of  the  way." 

Adrian  paid  him  ;  and  at  Mr.  Gow- 
ans' summons,  a  clerk  proceeded  to 
tie  up  the  books. 

"Well,"  said  Purvis,  "I  didn't 
interfere  with  your  bargain,  Mr.  Ches- 
ter, but  I'll  double  your  money  with 
pleasure,  if  you  want  to  speculate." 

"  I  would,"  said  Adrian,  "  certain- 
ly, if  I  hadn't  more  than  five  dollars' 
worth  of  enjoyment  to  expect  from  my 
old  friend's  pleasure  over  the  books." 

At  this  moment  there  came  stum- 
bling along,  from  the  street  door,  very 


G4 


Scrope ;  or,   The  Lost  Library. 


much  as  Adrian  had  done,  an  elderly 
man,  who  could  be  discerned  by  the 
three,  but  who  could  not  see  them  or 
indeed  much  of  any  thing.  He  was 
plainly  and  coarsely  dressed,  like  a 
farmer  or  old  fashioned  country  trades- 
man, a  good  deal  bent,  though  strongly 
made:  carried  his  hands  in  a  peculiar 
spread-out  attitude,  palms  down  ;  and 
as  he  came  into  the  feeble  circle  of 
light  where  they  stood,  they  could 
see  that  his  face  was  browned,  rugged 
and  homely,  but  kindly  and  sensi- 
ble. 

"  Why,"  said  Adrian,  "  it's  my  old 
friend  Adam  Welles  of  Manchester. 
Mr.  Welles,  how  do  you  do  ?  "  And 
he  held  out  his  hand  to  the  old  man, 
who  peered  at  him  for  a  moment  be- 
fore he  could  see  who  it  was,  but  at 
last  recognized  him  with  evident 
pleasure. 

"  Mr.  Chester,  I'm  delighted  to  find 
you,"  he  said,  speaking  a  little  slowly, 
and  with  something  of  that  deliberate 
primness  or  rather  solicitude  in  articu- 
lation and  in  choice  of  words,  fre- 
quently seen  in  those  whose  culture 
has  not  been  equal  to  their  aspira- 
tions. "  I  expected  to  see  you  at 
the  Scrope  Association  meeting,  next 
week  ;  but  this  is  an  additional  delight. 
What  a  paradise  of  books  !  "  continued 
the  old  man,  looking  about  him  with 
the  air  of  a  humble  saint  just  ad- 
mitted into  the  New  Jerusalem.  "  Oh, 
I  could  be  happy  here  for  a  hundred 
years  !  " 

Adrian  laughed.  "  I  knew  that 
you  were  a  lover  of  old  books,  Mr. 
Welles,"  he  said,  "but  according  to 
what  I  have  noticed,  fifty  years  would 
do  for  this  collection  if  you  throw 
out  the  odd  volumes." 

"Odd  volumes?"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Welles  —  "  then  I  can  fill  up  some 
of  my  broken  sets  !  If  I  can  only  get 
the  third  volume  of  Winterbotham's 


Historical  View  of  the  United  States, 
with  the  maps  !  "  — 

Mr.  Purvis  was  looking  on,  well 
pleased.  Adrian  now  introduced  Mr. 
Welles  to  him,  and  the  good-natured 
dealer  at  once  pointed  out  to  the  eager 
old  countryman  a  set  of  shelves  con- 
taining some  hundreds  of  all  manner 
of  odd  volumes,  which  the  old  man 
set  himself  to  inspect  one  by  one,  like 
a  miser  weighing  pieces  of  gold.  And 
Adrian,  having  ascertained  the  old 
man's  city  address,  and  given  him  his 
own,  at  an  uptown  boarding  house, 
along  with  injunctions  to  make  him, 
Adrian,  of  any  service  that  should  be  re- 
quired, left  him,  goingwith  Mr.  Purvis. 

"That  old  man  is  foreman  of  a 
large  paper-mill  at  Manchester,"  said 
Adrian,  as  they  reached  the  street 
door.  "  He  is  a  distant  cousin  of 
mine,  and  I  believe  he  is  ten  times  as 
much  of  a  bibliomaniac." 

"Biblioidiot,  I  should  be  afraid," 
said  Purvis,  "  to  be  so  anxious  over  • 
that  foolish  old  Winterbotham.  Why, 
'tisn't  worth  over  sevens-eighths  or  a 
dollar  a  volume  at  auction.  But  I  like 
to  see  the  old  man  so  eager,  and  I'll 
help  him  if  I  can." 

"  It  isn't  because  it's  Winterbo- 
tham," said  Adrian  :  it's  because  it's 
a  broken  set.  That  old  fellow  has  I 
guess  a  thousand  volumes  in  an  old 
attic  at  Manchester,  and  I  don't  be- 
lieve there's  a  complete  set  in  the 
whole.  He's  been  thirty  years  pick- 
ing odd  volumes  and  things  out  of  all 
the  paper  stock  that  came  into  the 
mill,  and  he  doesn't  have  many  coin- 
cidences. You  never  saw  such  a  lot 
in  your  life.  There  were  a  few  valu- 
able things,  but  I  reckon  Stanley's 
got  most  of  them  —  he's  paid  him 
what  the  old  man  thought  a  good 
deal  of  money,  first  and  last." 

"What  Stanley,"  asked  Purvis, 
seeming  a  little  startled. 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


65 


"  East  Hartford  —  the  book  man," 
said  Adrian. 

"  Oh,  —  you  know  him,  do  you  !  " 

"  Why,  yes ;  I'm  from  Hartford 
myself,  and  he's  a  cousin  of  mine,  as 
well  as  old  Mr.  Welles." 

"Whew!"  whistled  Mr.  Purvis, 
as  if  somewhat  astonished. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Adrian. 

"  Oh  —  nothing.  Only  it  rather 
surprised  me  to  find  you  knew  each 
other." 

Adrian  mused  a  moment,  and  then 
looked  up  with  a  smile. 

"  It  was  Stanley  that "  — 

"  Hush,  —  not  a  word,"  interrupted 
Purvis,  laughing ;  "  I  can  see  that 
you  are  a  man  to  be  trusted,  or  else  I 
should  be  annoyed.  I  should  lose  a 
good  deal,  one  way  and  another,  if  he 
knew  I  had  let  it  out.  He's  as  secret 
as  death,  you  know." 

Adrian  nodded. 

"Well;  now  that  we  have  gone  so 
far,  let's  make  a  clean  thing  of  it.  Do 
you  know  any  thing  of  the  lost  Scrope 
Library  ?  " 

'•'I've  been  watching  and  searching 
for  it  this  ten  years,"  said  Adrian 
frankly.  "  Mr.  Stanley  has  been  after 
it  for  twenty  years.  He  wants  it  to 
complete  his  collection  of  early  Ameri- 
can books,  and  I  want  it  for  my  col- 
lection of  family  books  and  relics.  I 
guess  he  knows  I  want  it  as  well  as 
I  know  he  does ;  but  we  have  never 
spoken  of  it." 

"  Shouldn't  wonder  if  you  were 
hunting  for  it  here  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  was.  I  have  never  tried 
New  York  before,  but  I  remember 
that  old  Scrope  Chest  and  the  books 
in  it  wherever  I  see  two  books  to- 
gether. It  wasn't  much  of  a  library 
—  probably  twenty  books." 

"  If  there  were  twenty  and  each 
equal  to  a  clean  copy  of  Eliot's  Indian" 
Bible,  I  should  call  it  a  good  deal  of 


a  library,"  said  Purvis.  "  But  I  really 
believe  if  any  of  those  books  had  got 
in  here  I  should  have  found  them,  or 
else  he  would.  He  never  comes  here 
without  having  a  hunt." 

"He  has  money  and  time,"  said 
Adrian,  with  a  shade  of  regret  in  his 
voice.  "  I  don't  grudge  them  to  him, 
but  I  don't  break  the  tenth  command- 
ment, do  I,  by  wishing  I  had  the 
duplicate  of  something  that  is  my 
neighbor's  ?  " 

"  Why,  no ;  I  don't  see  how  you 
can  make  that  out  covetousness." 

"  Well,  —  he  must  find  them  if  he 
can.  But  I  shall  keep  looking  just 
the  same.  I've  had  the  best  luck 
about  the  Scrope  Genealogy,  anyhow; 
but  perhaps  it  will  be  his  turn  for  the 
next.* —  Well,  I  must  go  and  present 
my  gift.     Good  day,  Mr.  Purvis." 

"Good  day,  Mr.  Chester.  Come 
and  see  me  at  my  store,"  said  the 
good-natured  book  dealer,  and  he 
handed  Adrian  a  business  card  as 
they  parted. 

CHAPTER    XL 

As  Adrian  that  evening  approached 
Mr.  Van  Braam's,  carrying  his  heavy 
parcel  stoutly  on  his  shoulder  —  for 
he  was  not  "in  the  best  society," 
and  need  not  therefore  depend  on 
others  when  it  was  more  convenient 
to  wait  on  himself — it  suddenly 
popped  into  his  mind  that  perhaps 
he  had  done  wrong  in  avowing  to 
Mr.  Purvis  the  fact  that  he  was 
engaged  in  the  Quest — as  the  ro- 
mances of  the  Holy  Grail  would  have 
called  it  —  of  the  Lost  Library.  This 
doubt  was  for  a  moment  even  painful ; 
for  Adrian,  like  the  rest  of  his  kin, 
was  strongly  secretive.  He  was  some- 
times frank  also  —  for  the  two  traits 
are  not  at  all  inconsistent.  His  secre- 
tiveness  was  not  a  mere  dog-in-the- 


66 


Scrope  ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


manger  instinct,  such  as  some  collec- 
tors have,  leading  him  not  only  to 
acquire  for  himself,  but  to  prevent 
others  from  acquiring  or  even  knowing. 
Perhaps  a  case  of  this  exaggerated 
type  among  Adrian's  own  relatives 
might  be  cited.  But  in  Adrian,  it  was 
simply  either  an  instinctive  reluctance 
to  speak  of  his  own  thoughts,  or  a 
precaution  against  failure  in  his  own 
designs. 

However ;  after  a  few  moments  of 
doubt  whether  the  revealing  of  his 
secret  would  interfere  with  the  pur- 
pose that  he  had  so  long  entertained, 
he  concluded  that  probably  no  harm 
was  done.  Mr.  Stanley  and  Mr.  Pur- 
vis had  ransacked  their  fill  in  the 
vast  repository  of  Mr.  Gowans,  long 
ago,  and  with  a  thousand  times  his 
opportunities  and  advantages.  So 
they  had,  of  course,  in  scores  of  other 
places  in  the  great  city;  and,  for  what 
he  knew,  they  had  secured  half  those 
old  books  already.  Stanley,  he  knew, 
would  never  say  so  if  he  had  —  it 
would  be  a  great  deal  more  like  the 
ways  of  collectors  for  him  to  flatly 
deny  it.  All  is  fair  in  war  and  col- 
lecting. Purvis'  inquiries  about  the 
lost  books  proved  nothing ;  he  might 
have  had  one  of  them  in  his  pocket 
all  the  time,  and  he  could  not  honestly 
reveal  his  customer's  secret.  Thus 
reflecting,  and  comforting  himself 
with  the  sage  conclusion  that  even  if 
any  mischief  had  been  done,  it  was  too 
late  to  prevent  it,  he  reached  the  old 
white  house  in  the  city  meadow,  and 
was  shown  once  more  into  the  dusky 
jed-browr.  parlor  where  Mr.  Van 
Braam  sat  as  usual  at  the  table, 
"  puttering  "  in  a  disorderly  heap  of 
papers  and  memoranda. 

At  Adrian's  entrance,  the  old  gen- 
tleman arose  with  his  usual  courtly 
kindness  and  welcomed  him.  Adrian 
answered  with  equal  heartiness,  and 


if  it  was  with  less  elegance  of  man- 
ner, perhaps  there  was  natural  grace- 
fulness enough  to  indicate  that  he 
would  become  a  courtly  old  gentleman 
if  he  lived  as  long.  But  the  first 
thing  he  added  to  his  salutations 
came  as  it  were  of  involuntary  im- 
pulse, and  had  it  not  been  between 
good  friends  and  kinsmen,  it  might 
have  been  uncivil.  But  placing  his 
parcel  on  the  table,  Adrian  peered 
about  him  into  the  dim  corners  of  the 
room,  —  for  the  shaded  drop-light 
made  an  exclusive  little  circle  close 
round  it,  —  and  sniffed,  lifting  his 
nose,  and  peering  or  pointing  about, 
to  tell  the  truth,  somewhat  as  a  dog 
does  who  suspects  the  presence  of 
edibles. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  it's  very 
close  in  here  ?  " 

"Pooh!"  said  Mr.  Van  Braam. 
"  Nonsense,  my  boy.  Come,  what  is 
there  in  your  parcel  ?  " 

"  Well,  but  really,"  persisted  Adri- 
an, "  it  would  make  me  sick  to  live  in 
such  a  place  a  week.  And  then  all 
those  plants,  in  the  night-time  too, 
in  the  same  room.  Won't  you  let  me 
open  the  window  a  little  ?  " 

"Oh  pshaw!"  said  the  old  man. 
"I'm  more  than  seventy  years  old, 
and  I've  always  avoided  ventilation. 
Fresh  air  and  all  that  stuff  kills  peo- 
ple. They've  invented  fresh  air,  Adri- 
an, within  about  thirty  years,  to  kill 
people  with.  I  avoid  it,  and  I'm  over 
seventy.  So  did  all  my  ancestors,  as 
far  as  I  know.  My  grandmother 
Adriana  did,  and  she  died  at  ninety. 
My  father  did,  and  he  died  at  ninety- 
five.  I  do,  and  I  mean  to  die  at  a 
hundred.  Civille  shall,  and  I  don't 
mean  her  to  die  until  she's  a  hun- 
dred and  five." 

But  although  the  old  man  finished 
his  half  joking  half  earnest  assertion 
of  the   old   fashioned   disregards   of 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


67 


which  with  genuine  Scrope  tenacity, 
he  preserved  so  many,  yet  as  he 
named  his  daughter  a  shadow  came 
over  his  face,  and  he  paused,  with  an 
obvious  strong  effort  of  self-control. 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Adrian,  not 
observing  his  emotion.  "  You'd  be 
a  hundred  now  if  you  had  always 
been  careful  to  be  in  fresh  air,  and 
then  you  would  live  to  be  a  hundred 
and  thirty.  But  really  and  truly,  Mr. 
Van  Braam,  I  perceived  the  same  sort 
of  lifelessness  in  the  air  here  last 
evening,  and  there's  something  more, 
too ;  I  don't  think  the  drains  are 
right.  I  wish  I  hadn't  that  sort  of 
keen  scent,  but  I  have,"  — 

"Stuff,  stuff,  stuff!"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  a  little  impatiently.  "  I 
won't  change  my  old  fashioned  ways  for 
anybody.  Now  there's  that  picture"  — 
for  Adrian,  who  had  stepped  over  to 
the  mantle-piece,  had  looked  for  a 
moment  at  the  horrid  engraving  of 
The  Dying  Camel  —  "I  don't  know 
but  that's  enough  to  make  anybody 
sick." 

"  Well,  I  think  so.  How  can  you 
live  with  such  an  awful  thing  before 
your  eyes?  I  would  about  as  soon 
have  a  beast  butchered  in  the  parlor 
ever}'-  evening  for  my  amusement." 

"Why,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
"the  fact  is,  Mr.  Button  made  us  a 
present  of  it  with  so  much  ceremony, 
and  thought  it  was  so  fine,  that  I 
really  haven't  the  heart  to  —  Why, 
—  Adrian,  my  dear  boy,  —  have  you 
cut  you  ?  —  How  did  you  do  that  ?  " 

For  a  sharp  crackling  crash  min- 
gled with  a  tearing  sound  had  inter- 
rupted the  old  man's  explanation,  as 
Adrian,  stepping  along  across  the 
hearthrug,  half-fell  suddenly  against 
the  mantle-piece  and  his  elbow  went 
smash  through  glass,  dying  camel  and 
all,  rending  that  suffering  quadruped 
into   several   pieces,  whose   irregular 


lines  of  section  converged  in  the  very 
middle  of  his  abdomen. 

"  I  thought  I'd  put  your  old  camel 
out  of  his  pain,"  said  Adrian,  looking 
with  pretended  gravity  straight  at  his 
host.  "'  Tisn't  right  to  have  him  so 
long  a-dying.  I'd  rather  have  it  done 
quietly  than  to  go  and  tell  Bergh 
and  make  a  scandal.  But  I'll  brir.g 
another  picture  tomorrow.  Let  me 
choose,  this  time,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  You  scamp,"  said  Mr.  Van  Braam, 
"  you  did  it  on  purpose,  then  ?  Well, 
I'm  sorry  our  cousin's  gift  is  spoiled. 
Just  tear  out  some  of  the  blackest  of 
that  camel,  won't  you,  and  put  it  in 
the  fire  so  that  it  can't  be  mended." 
—  Adrian  did  so.  —  "  The  frame  will 
do  perfectly  well,"  continued  the  old 
gentleman.  —  "  Yes,  you  may  have 
another  picture  put  in,  and  if  anybody 
ever  finds  it  out,  we'll  charge  the 
whole  to  you." 

"  All  right,"  answered  Adrian ;  "  and 
now  you  must  see  if  you  will  take 
what  I've  brought  for  you."  And 
drawing  up  a  chair,  he  took  his  parcel 
on  his  lap,  cut  the  strings,  and  select- 
ing Volume  First,  he  handed  it  to  his 
host. 

Mr.  Van  Braam  received  it  in 
silence,  and  after  the  manner  of  a 
book-lover,  he  first  poised  it  to  feel 
its  specific  gravity;  then  inspected 
the  binding ;  then  read  the  title  on 
the  back  ;  then  opened  it  and  read  the 
title-page ;  and  barely  glancing  at 
the  copper-plate  which  represents  the 
intelligent,  thoughtful,  and  yet  some- 
what conceited  face  of  the  famous 
mysticist,  he  laid  down  the  book  and 
looked  at  Adrian  with  a  countenance 
in  which  pleasure  was  mingled  with 
apprehension. 

Mr.  Van  Braam,  descended  from 
an  intensely  puritan  stock,  was  by  a 
legitimate  though  not  invariable  law 
of  spiritual  inheritance,  a   mysticist. 


68 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


To  be  a  mysticist,  one  need  not 
possess  any  great  share  of  either  mind 
or  morals.  What  must  be  present  is, 
a  good  deal  of  the  instinct  for  wor- 
shipping, and  a  good  deal  of  the  appe- 
tite for  the  wonderful.  Given  these 
two,  and  perhaps  any  great  share  of 
intellect  would  be  as  much  in  the  way 
of  a  successful  compound  as  the  water 
in  Father  Tom's  punch  :  "  '  Put  in  the 
sperits  first,'  says  his  Biv'rence,  '  and 
then  put  in  the  sugar ;  and  remem- 
ber, every  dhrop  ov  wather  you  put  in 
afther  that  spoils  the  punch. '  " 

Add  conscience,  spirituality,  imagi- 
nation and  intellect  to  your  worship- 
ping and  wondering  instincts,  and 
you  have  Thomas  a  Kempis  ;  with 
variations  in  the  mental  endowment 
and  a  different  culture,  you  have 
Keble.  Mr.  Van  Braam  had  not 
poetical  gifts  nor  creative  imagination 
nor  instinct  for  expression.  Deduct 
from  him  the  instinct  for  the  marvel- 
lous, and  intensify  his  reasoning  facul- 
ties, and  his  executive  abilities ;  and 
with  his  conscientiousness  and  in- 
difference to  prosperities  of  all  kinds, 
he  would  have  made  a  model  mission- 
ary, martyr,  or  Calvinistic  clergyman. 
As  it  was,  he  had  not  much  energy  — 
although,  like  a  woman,  he  had  great 
power  of  endurance  ;  so  that  he  re- 
mained, lifted  by  his  conscientious- 
ness and  culture  above  the  dangers 
which  beset  vulgar  and  non-moral 
mystics,  but  none  the  less  a  constitu- 
tional and  genuine  worshipper  and 
wonderer  —  for  that  is  what  Mystic 
means,  —  except  just  west  of  Stoning- 
ton. 

The  apprehension  which  alloyed 
Mr.  Van  Braam's  pleasure  was  simply 
a  natural  dislike  of  ridicule.  This 
Adrian  saw,  and  with  instinctive  good 
sense  he  said  at  once, 

"My  dear  sir,  I  don't  believe  in 
Behmen  or  in  any  of  the  mystics  ;  but 


as  long  as  so  many  pure  and  sweet 
hearted  people  have  been  mystics,  I 
certainly  can't  object  to  their  belief. 
I  thought  you  would  like  the  book." 

"  I  do,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
relieved;  " I  don't  know  what  would 
have  pleased  me  more ;  I  was  half 
afraid  you  would  laugh  at  me,  but  a 
difference  of  opinion  does  no  harm." 
And  he  looked  through  volume  after 
volume,  lifting  the  curious  redupli- 
cated layers  on  the  fantastic  illustra- 
tions, reading  here  and  there  a  para- 
graph, fully  as  pleased  as  Adrian  could 
have  imagined,  and  the  young  man 
enjoyed  the  pleasantest  experience 
possible  in  this  world,  or  in  any  other, 
for  that  matter  —  the  pleasure  of  giv- 
ing pleasure. 

And  yet  what  stuff  it  is  !  Adrian 
had  transcribed  a  few  sentences,  before 
bringing  the  book,  out  of  mere  curi- 
osity ;  and  here  are  two  or  three  of 
them  ;  almost  all  the  book  is  of  the 
like  sort : 

"  But  when  the  Dawning  or  Morning 
Redness  shall  shine  from  the  East  to  the 
West,  or  from  the  Rising  to  the  Setting, 
then  assuredly  Time  will  be  no  more ;  but 
the  SUN  of  the  Heart  of  God  rises  or 
springs  forth,  and,  RA.  RA.  R.  P.  will  be 
pressed  in  the  Wine-press  without  the  City, 
and  therewith  to  R.P."  Aurora,  p.  266. 

"Now  to  speak  in  a  creaturely  way, 
Sulphur,  Mercurius,  and  Sal,  are  under- 
stood to  be  thus.  SUL  is  tbe  Soul  or  the 
Spirit  that  is  risen  up,  or  in  a  Similitude 
[it  is]  God  :  PHUR  is  the  Prima  Materia, 
or  first  Matter  out  of  which  the  Spirit  is 
generated,  but  especially  the  Harshness  : 
Mercurius  has  a  fourfold  Form  in  it,  viz. 
Harshness,  Bitterness,  Fire,  and  Water. 
Sal  is  the  Child  that  is  generated  from 
these  four,  and  is  harsh,  eager,  and  a 
Cause  of  the  Comprehensibility  "  The 
Three  Principles  of  the  Divine  Essence,  p. 
10. 

"  Each  Letter  in  this  Name  (Jehova) 
intimates  to  us  a  peculiar  virtue  and  work- 
ing, that  is,  a  Form  in  the  working  Power. 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


69 


For  I  is  the  Effluence  of  the  Eternal  indi- 
visible Unity,  or  the  sweet  grace  and  ful- 
ness of  the  ground  of  the  Divine  Power 
of  becoming  something.  E  is  a  threefold 
I,  where  the  Trinity  shuts  itself  up  in  the 
Unity,  for  the  I  goes  into  E,  and  joineth 
I  E,  which  is  an  outbreathing  of  the  Unity 
in  itself.  H  is  the  Word,  or  breathing  of 
the  Trinity  of  God.  O  is  the  Circumfer- 
ence, or  the  Son  of  God,  through  which 
the  I  E,  and  the  H,  or  breathing,  speaks 
forth  from  the  compressed  delight  of  the 
Power  and  Virtue.  Vis  the  joyful  Efflu- 
ence from  the  breathing,  that  is,  the  pro- 
ceeding Spirit  of  God.  A  is  that  which  is 
proceeded  from  the  power  and  virtue,  viz., 
the  wisdom ;  a  Subject  of  the  Trinity ; 
wherein  the  Trinity  works,  and  wherein 
the  Trinity  is  also  manifest.  This  Name 
is  nothing  else  but  a  speaking  forth,  or 
expression  of  the  Threefold  working  of 
the  Holy  Trinity  in  the  Unity  of  God." 
The  Clavis,  p.  7. 

Adrian  had  also  transcribed  the 
threatening  puns  which  the  irate 
Theosopher  had  wreaked  upon  Gre- 
gorius  Richter,  the  persecuting  Super- 
intendent of  Gorlitz  ;  and  divers  other 
equally  profitable  passages.  But  of 
this  disrespectful  proceeding  he  was 
careful  not  to  say  one  word  to  his  good 
old  relative,  who  shortly  selected  a  pas- 
sage, and  spoke. 

"  Well,  Adrian,  no  doubt  there  are 
plenty  of  passages  that  can  be  laughed 
at.  But  I  don't  know  that  it  is  any 
worse  in  Behinen  than  in  the  Bible, 
to  be  without  the  modern  scientific 
discoveries.  I  know  it's  the  fashion 
to  scoff  at  him.  But  Coleridge  did 
not ;  he  confessed  that  lie  owed  great 
obligations  to  the  '  illuminated  coo- 
ler of  Gorlitz.'  And  now  let  me  read 
you  the  four  first  answers  of  the 
Master,  in  the  conference  '  Of  the 
Supersensual  Life,'  to  the  Scholar  who 
is  inquiring  how  he  'may  see  God, 
and  hear  him  speak.'  " 

And  the  old  gentleman  read  from 


p.  75  of  "  The  Way  to  Christ,"  as  fol- 
lows : 

"  When  thou  canst  throw  thyself  but 
for  a  Moment  into  that  where  no  Creature 
dwelleth,  then  thou  hearest  what  God 
speaketh.  ...  It  is  in  thee,  and  if  thou 
canst  for  a  while  cease  from  all  thy  think- 
ing and  willing,  thou  shalt  hear  unspeak- 
able Words  of  God.  ...  When  thou 
standest  still  from  the  thinking  and  will- 
ing of  Self,  then  the  Eternal  Hearing, 
Seeing,  and  Speaking,  will  be  revealed  in 
thee ;  and  so  God  heareth  and  seeth 
through  thee  :  Thine  own  Hearing,  Will- 
ing, and  Seeing,  hindereth  thee,  that  thou 
dost  not  see  nor  hear  God.  .  .  .  When 
thou  art  quiet  or  silent,  then  thou  art  that 
which  God  was  before  Nature  and  Crea- 
ture, and  whereof  he  made  thy  Nature 
and  Creature:  Then  thou  hearest  and 
seest  with  that  wherewith  God  saw  and 
heard  in  thee,  before  thy  own  Willing, 
Seeing,  and  Hearing  began." 

Mr.  Van  Braam  read  well.  That 
is,  he  spoke  well,  and  he  read  so  that 
if  the  hearer's  eyes  were  shut,  it  would 
not  appear  but  that  he  was  speaking. 
And  he  read  these  profound  and  sim- 
ple thoughts  with  a  depth  of  sympa- 
thy that  might  have  prevailed  with 
a  scoffer,  much  more  with  a  kindly 
nature  like  Adrian's ;  and  the  young 
man,  who  had  not  lighted  on  this 
passage,  was  greatly  impressed. 

"That  is  very  spiritual,"  he  ob- 
served, when  the  reader  paused ;  — 
"  and  it  is  broad  enough  to  permit  a 
Protestant,  a  Romanist,  a  Jew,  a  Mo- 
hammedan, a  Buddhist,  and  a  Brah- 
minist  all  to  worship  together.  I  did 
not  know  that  Behmen  could  think  or 
say  any  thing  so  deep." 

"  My  boy,"  said  Mr.  Van  Braam, 
"  if  you  watch  for  what  is  good  you 
find  it.  No  fair  judgment  is  possible 
except  a  charitable  one.  Justice  is 
mercy.  — However,  I'm  talking  to  the 
average  opinion  about  old  Behinen 
rather  than  to  yours." 


70 


jScrope ;   or,   The  Lost  Library. 


"  I  guess  it  would  be  a  good  rule 
for  all  critics  —  and  for  all  opinions 
too,"  said  Adrian  ;  "  But  I've  got  still 
.another  thing  to  show  you,  —  some- 
thing better  than  Behmen." 

"  Better  than  Behmen  ?  "  repeated 
Mr.  Van  Braam,  with  a  smile  —  "  what 
can  that  be  ?  " 

Chester  drew  from  his  breast  pocket 
a  long  letter  envelope;  took  out  of 
it  a  flat  brownish  looking  thing  of 
paper,  ragged-edged,  and  with  an  ap- 
pearance generally  of  having  been  res- 
cued from  the  very  sepulchres  of  waste 
paper.  This  he  carefully  opened  and 
laid  it  on-  the  table  before  Mr.  Van 
Braam.  Excited  by  the  solemn  air 
of  the  young  man,  Mr.  Van  Braam 
picked  up  his  eye-glasses,  which  had 
fallen  from  their  precarious  perch  on 
his  nose,  looked  at  the  title-page,  which 
lay  open  before  him,  and  jumped  out 
of  his  chair. 

"  Why,  Adrian  Chester,"  he  cried, 
"  it's  the  lost  Scrope  Genealogy  !  " 

Adrian  smiled  and  nodded. 

"  Absolutely  unique  !  "  continued 
the  old  man,  in  a  rapture  of  mingled 
genealogical  and  bibliographical  bliss 
—  "  absolutely  unique  —  been  sought 
for  eagerly  this  fifty  years  —  first  gen- 
ealogy printed  in  this  country  — 
half  a  century  before  that  silly  Steb- 
bins  affair  !  — Why,  —  they  talk  about 
weight  in  gold  —  it  would  be  throw- 
ing this  away  to  give  it  for  five 
times  its  weight  in  gold  !  —  Adrian, 
you're  quite  right  ;  I  wouldn't  give  it 
for  a  ship-load  of  Behmens !  But 
where  —  how  on  earth  did  you  come 
by  this,  my  boy  ?  " 

Adrian  repeated  the  circumstances, 
and  ended  by  saying,  "I  would  rea- 
dily have  given  a  hundred  dollars  for 
it  if  I  had  been  able  ;  but  nobody  bid 
against  me,  and  I  got  it  for  thirty  " — 

"  Dirt-cheap  ! "  broke  in  Mr.  Van 
Braam  — 


"  Cents,"  added  Adrian. 

Mr.  Van  Braam  gave  a  kind  of  groan, 
and  sat  down  suddenly  as  if  something 
had  hit  him  in  the  stomach.  No  col- 
lector of  mortal  mould  could  have 
endured  to  hear  of  such  a  thing 
befalling  another  without  some  emo- 
tion. There  is  something  disagreea- 
ble to  the  best  of  us  —  says,  or  might 
have  said,  some  villain  or  other  —  in 
the  good  fortune  of  our  friends.  It  is 
to  be  feared  that  this  is  in  some  small 
measure  true  of  book-collectors  at 
least.  And  besides,  the  cheapness  of 
the  rate  at  which  the  other  man  got 
it !  No  rare  book  .can  be  perfectly 
enjoyed  by  one  who  has  paid  for  it 
all  it  is  worth.  The  delight  of  own- 
ership increases  not  only  inversely  as 
the  cost,  but  inversely  as  the  square 
of  the  cost.  For  example  :  Full  value 
one,  cost  one,  delight  one.  But  full 
value  one,  cost  one-half,  delight  four ! 
So  that  here  was  the  case  of  a  beati- 
tude raised  to  the  nth  power  (for  surely 
the  real  value  of  this  unique  pamphlet 
divided  by  thirty  cents  would  equal 
n  at  least),  and  of  the  acquisition  of 
the  inestimable  treasure  by  another 
person  superadded  —  a  terrible  temp- 
tation even  to  a  disciple  of  Behmen ! 
But  he  bore  the  ordeal  bravely,  though 
it  cost  him  a  struggle. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said  at  last,  "if 
anybody  on  earth  was  to  have  such  an 
extraordinary  piece  of  luck,  next  to 
myself  I  would  choose  you.  It  isn't 
human  to  go  further,  is  it '?" 

"I  couldn't  go  further,  certainly," 
said  Chester  gayly  ;  "  and  I  recipro- 
cate the  sentiment  exactly.  But  are 
you  remembering,  my  dear  sir,  all 
this  time,  that  this  pamphlet  tells  us 
what  became  of  Adrian  Scroope  ?  I 
looked  into  it  and  found  the  facts, 
though  they  are  put  in  a  singular 
way." 

"  Of  course  I  remember,"  said  the 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


71 


old  man  eagerly  "  and  that  this  fills 
in  the  great  blank  in  the  American 
genealogy."  And  absorbed  by  this 
mighty  consideration,  he  plunged  into 
an  intense  and  exhaustive  scrutiny 
with  full  written  memoranda  of  the 
bibliography,  and  the  genealogical  and 
other  contents  of  this  not  merely  rare, 
nor  even  Very  Rare,  but  absolutely 
UNIQUE  work.  His  memoranda 
were  to  form  the  basis  of  a  paper  which 
might  or  might  not  be  offered  for  pub- 
lication ;  indeed,  which  might  or 
might  not  be  made  ready  to  offer  ;  for 
the  good  gentleman  was  a  terrible 
maker  of  memoranda  and  beginner 
of  papers,  and  had  in  his  archives 
some  bushels  of  the  same ;  —  such  mere 
heaps  of  scraps  and  strips  cannot  be 
stated  unless  by  measure  or  by  weight 
—  you  may  say  if  you  like  fifty  pounds 
avoirdupois  weight  instead  of  so  many 
bushels  dry  measure; — after  the 
fashion  of  the  French  biographer  who 
reports  that  an  author  named  Dinge, 
("  very  unknown,"  he  says)  died 
leaving  behind  him  autograph  manu- 
scripts of  the  weight  of  880  pounds 
avoirdupois  (400  kilograms). 

Being  (theoretically)  a  strict  and 
systematical  bibliographer,  even  to 
intolerance,  Mr.  Van  Braam  began 
with  a  tremendous  quantity  of  care. 
He  first  copied  the  title-page,  with  the 
professional  dashes  or  what-you-may- 
call-ems  (isn't  that  the  name?)  to 
show  the  lines  of  the  display ;  Mr. 
Stevens  G  M  B  his  method  of  pho- 
tographing all  the  pages  of  books  in 
small  —  or  is  it  part  of  them  only  ?  — 
and  then  making  a  string  of  the  pho- 
tographs and  calling  it  a  catalogue  of 
the  books  had  not  then  been  invented. 
Somewhat  on  the  following  wise  was 
his  transcript ;  it  may  be  verified  by 
any  one  who  will  find  this  very  copy 
of  the  pamphlet  itself  in  the  Histori- 
cal Society's  Library  at  Hartford  and 


compare  it  with  even  this  printed  re- 
production ; 

Scroope,  Adrian. 

The  [  Family  of  SCROOPE  |  Re- 
trac'd  from  these  Present  |  or  at  the 
least  the  Later  I  Unhappy  Times  |  to 
its  Originall.  |  Litera  Scripta  manet.  | 
I  have  been  yong,  and  amolde  ;  yet  I 
saw  never  I  the  righteous  forsaken,  nor 
his  seed  begging  bread.  Psalms 
xxxvii.  25.  |  By  Mr.  Adrian  Scroope,  I 
(sometime  of  Hartford  in  Conecti- 
cott.)    [No  imprint.'] 

—  And  so  on,  and  so  forth.  Then 
came  a  description  of  the  pamphlet, 
executed  with  entomological  minute- 
ness, to  wit ;  Size  of  type-page,  so 
many  inches  so  many  tenths,  in  width ; 
so  many  in  height ;  catchwords  ;  fo- 
lios ;  character  of  letter ;  style  of 
setting,  spacing,  justifying;  display 
of  titlepage ;  width  of  margin ;  kind 
of  paper  ;  watermark  ;  method  of  ar- 
ranging the  families  and  individuals 
in  their  genealogical  order;  —  But  to 
fully  set  forth  this  piece  of  solicitous 
and  affectionate  labor  would  require 
to  repeat  it  word  for  word ;  and  there 
is  no  room.  The  curious  matters  how- 
ever upon  the  verso  or  back  of  the 
title-page  may  be  here  transcribed  as 
they  stand,  except  two  written  signa- 
tures at  the  lower  left  hand  of  the 
printed  part,  written  to  all  appear- 
ance by  the  same  person  and  at  the 
same  time.  One  was  a  close  repeti- 
tion of  the  very  characteristic  signa- 
ture of  "  Adrian  Scroope,"  and  the 
other,  written  just  below  it,  and  in 
absolutely  the  same  handwriting,  was 
"Adeodatus  Throop."  As  for  the 
printed  words,  they  were  as  follows : 

See,  here  I  raise  a  Monvmente  in  hast 
Charg'd  to  protect  old  Names,  old  Fames, 

from  Waste. 
That  is  laid  off,  its  Hist'rie  here  is  told. 
Here  I  take  up  new  Name,  old  Life  to  hold. 


72 


Scrope ;   or.  The  Lost  Library. 


Read  in  this  Verse  the  Truth,  the  Cause,  the 

Hope. 
Old  Faith  new  Fame  shall  found ;  farewell  to 

Scroope. 
Old  Fame,  farewell !     Old  Faith,  live  in  new 

Fame ! 
Pray  God,  though  Life  be  short,  I  scape  from 

shame: 
Earth  first,  and  Heaven  at  last,  shall  give  me 

a  new  name. 

Non  hasc,  sed  me. 

V    i  King's  church  )    -b 
-U    1  Church's  king  J 
1670 
[The  two  signatures] 

Adrian  sat  meanwhile  quietly  en- 
joying the  old  gentleman's  pleasure. 
All  at  once  an  idea  occurred  to  Mr. 
Van  Braam,  and  he  looked  up  sud- 
denly — 

"  Adrian,  why  didn't  you  show  this 
to  our  cousin  Scrope  last  evening  ?  " 

Chester  smiled,  but  considered  a 
moment  before  replying,  and  even  then 
a  sort  of  friendly  sport  came  before 
the  real  answer. 

"Why,  my  dear  sir;  does  anybody 
of  the  Scrope  blood  tell  secrets  or 
speak  of  his  successes?" 

"  Very  true,  my  boy ;  nobody  ex- 
cept Mr.  Button  ; —  and  now,  why  was 
it?" 

"I'll  tell  you,  but  it  must  be  in 
confidence.  —  Do  you  entirely  believe 
in  our  English  cousin  and  his  estate 
in  England  ?  " 

Mr.  Van  Braam  was  startled.  He 
and  Adrian,  as  is  natural  among  kins- 
men, were  exactly  unlike  in  some 
things,  as  they  were  exactly  alike  in 
others.  Thus,  as  to  matters  of  con- 
science and  matters  of  taste,  they  felt 
as  alike  as  twins.  On  the  point  of 
credulity  however,  they  were  as  oppo- 
site as  the  magnetic  poles.  To  the 
old  man,  belief  was  the  satisfaction 
of  a  hunger;  and  subject  to  the  not 
very  strict  or  narrow  limitations  tbat 
experience  had  succeeded  in  enforcing 


upon  him,  the  more  marvellous  an 
account,  the  more  flavorsome  its  taste, 
and  the  more  eager  his  reception  of 
it.  To  such  natures  a  narrative  is 
credible  in  proportion  as  it  is  incred- 
ible. This  paradox  only  states  the 
mode  of  operation  of  the  instinct  of 
"  marvellousness  "  as  the  phrenolo- 
gists with  correct  analysis  but  miser- 
able terminology,  have  called  it.  It 
is  the  faculty  to  which  the  argument; 
from  miracles  is  addressed ;  that  which 
has  ruled  in  so  many  religions,  and 
whose  acme  is  in  Tertullian's  famous 
"  Certum  est,  quia  impossiblle  est" 
So,  just  as  he  had  enjoyed  his  Ploti- 
nus  and  his  Behmen,  and  if  the  truth 
be  told  perhaps  wished  he  might 
accept  along  with  Mr.  Taylor  all  the 
gods  of  Olympus  —  mainly  however 
for  the  sake  of  the  deeper  mysteries 
of  the  elder  gods  —  the  Titans  and 
the  Cabiri  —  in  like  manner  Mr.  Van 
Braam  had  fastened  upon  the  belief 
in  the  complete  traditional  account  of 
the  two  Adrian  Scroopes,  and  upon 
the  whole  of  the  statement  about  the 
great  Scrope  estate  in  England.  And 
Adrian's  question  was  disagreeable, 
for  it  forced  the  old  gentleman  to  con- 
sult a  guide  that  he  did  not  love, 
though  he  had  been  obliged  to  in- 
quire at  his  mouth  more  than  once  — 
to  wit,  his  judgment.  It  was  with 
visible  unwillingness  that  he  an- 
swered ; 

"  Entirely  ?  Why,  —  no  more 
than  is  reasonable.  Don't  you  be- 
lieve in  them  ?  " 

"  The  fact  is,"  answered  Adrian,  "  I 
can't  say  I  either  do  or  do  not.  I  am 
simply  waiting  to  see.  I  shall  believe 
whatever  I  find  is  true." 

"  Well,  I  have  examined  all  the 
young  man's  papers.  He  certainly  is 
the  person  he  represents  himself  to 
be." 

This  was  not  the  point,  and  Adrian 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


hinted  as  much ;  but  with  natural 
tact,  he  slid  away  from  the  distasteful 
consideration,  since  there  was  no  need 
of  annoying  bis  host. 

"  Oh,  well,  you  and  I  are  perfectly 
safe,  as  long  as  we  have  only  paid  our 
five  dollars  to  join  the  Scrope  Asso- 
ciation. But  that  is  not  answering 
your  question  about  showing  the  pam- 
phlet. As  to  Scrope,  he  does  not 
quite  suit  me,  I  confess,  and  it  was 
the  impression  he  made  on  me  that 
kept  me  from  telling  him.  And  you 
won't  tell  him  either,  will  you,  please  ? 
I  intend  to  offer  such  evidence  as  it 
furnishes,  at  the  meeting.  Scrope  is 
evidently  kind  hearted  —  or  rather 
good  natured,  but  to  tell  you  the  truth 
I  shouldn't  like  to  be  in  his  power, 
and  I  want  to  see  what  sort  of  a  case 
he  will  make  out  alone.  Did  you 
notice  how  flat  and  low  the  top  part 
of  his  head  is  in  spite  of  that  hair- 
bush  that  he  grows  on  top  of  it  ? 
There's  plenty  of  intellect,  but  I  don't 
think  he  knows  there's  any  difference 
between  right  and  wrong.  I  should 
not  be  afraid  to  deal  with  him  in 
plain  sight ;  but  he's  not  a  person 
that  I  would  trust." 

"  Fiddlesticks,  Adrian  !  There  you 
go  with  your  bumps  again  !  If  that's 
all  you  have  against  him  I  don't 
greatly  relish  your  prejudice." 

The  young  man  quietly  evaded 
once  more  a  point  on  which  they  dis- 
agreed and  tried  a  weaker  place  for 
attack  with  considerable  skill. 

"  It  isn't  a  matter  of  bumps,  my 
dear  sir ;  I  know  very  well  you  don't 
believe  in  them.  But  you  believe  as 
much  as  I  do  in  the  perception  of 
spiritual  atmospheres.  He  makes 
such  an  impression  on  me  that  I  feel 
rather  inclined  to  watch  him.  How- 
ever, I  like  him,  in  spite  of  my  notion, 
for  he's  very  jolly  ;  and  I  promise  you 
I  will  own  up  like  a  man  if  he  comes 


out  all  right.  And  I'll  tell  you  what 
—  if  Civille  puts  faith  in  him,  I  will. 
Her  intuitions  are  far  better  than 
mine." 

At  this  mention  of  his  daughter, 
the  old  man's  countenance  Ml  as  it 
had  done  before  ;  but  this  time  Adrian 
perceived  it  and  asked  if  she  were  ill. 
And  now  Mr.  Van  Braam  suddenly 
unburdened  his  poor  old  heart,  and 
confided  to  his  strong  and  healthy 
young  relative  the  interview  with  the 
detective,  which  he  had  been  carry- 
ing silently  about  with  him,  as  one 
who  has  taken  poison  but  has  not 
yet  found  the  right  person  to  tell 
of  it.  It  was  an  impulse,  and  even 
while  he  spoke  he  more  than  once 
expressed  almost  as  much  horror  of 
speaking,  as  of  the  horrible  thing  it- 
self. But  the  impulse  was  a  correct 
one  ;  for  Adrian's  strong  cheerfulness, 
and  his  perfect  faith  in  Civille,  aside 
from  the  natural  sympathetic  kindness 
of  the  young  man,  were  cordials  to 
the  extreme  pain  of  the  distressed 
father,  which  seemed  to  have  been  the 
bitterer,  now  that  it  was  expressed 
in  words,  from  the  very  fact  of  having 
been  endured  in  silence,  even  for  a 
few  hours. 

"  Civille  ?  "  exclaimed  Adrian  in 
utter  astonishment  —  "  Why,  he 
might  as  well  try  to  make  me  think 
it  is  darkness  that  comes  from  the 
sun  !  What  a  fool !  But  how  ?ho;ild 
those  fellows  recognize  human  hi- 
ings  ?  They  live  amongst  corruption, 
and  they  lose  the  power  of  distin- 
guishing what  is  clean.  But  we 
must  be  quiet  about  it,  of  course. 
Just  have  patience  for  a  few  days, 
and  I'll  find  out  something  for  you. 
We  shall  discover  exactly  what  the 
rascality  is,  you  may  be  sure.  — 
Why,  I  should  as  soon  believe  that 
there  was  no  God  !  " 

"  One   thing  that   frightens   me," 


74 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


said  the  old  gentleman,  "is,  the  chance 
of  some  —  some  kind  of  ailment"  — 
he  spoke  with  difficulty,  and  stopped 
short.  Adrian  himself  remembered 
the  young  girl's  habitual  and  acute 
headaches;  her  excessive  paleness; 
her  weary  look:  and  for  a  few  mo- 
ments he  was  at  a  stand.  Mr.  Van 
Braam  went  on : 

"  She  has  certainly  lost  color  and 
flesh  since  we  came  here,  now  eight- 
een months  ago.  But  then,  again, 
there's  something  else  that  the  officer 
knows  about,  I  dare  say,  but  you 
don't  —  her  going  about  alone  so 
much,  and  to  such  places." 

Adrian  looked  astonished  again. 

"  She  has  very  few  friends,  poor 
thing,"  said  the  old  man.  "  We  have 
lived  so  much  alone  ever  since  her 
mother  died  —  and  always,  for  that 
matter.  She  has  had  no  escort.  How 
could  she  ?  I  have  not  been  able  to 
go  with  her.  And  she  has  been  inter- 
ested iu  so  much  of  the  recent  psy- 
chology and  sociology  —  And  the  poor 
child's  life  is  so  empty  !  —  And  I  never 
could  refuse  her  any  thing —  nor  could 
I  anybody,  if  I  had  it  to  give,"  —  the 
old  gentleman  smiled  pitifully  enough 
—  "  I'm  an  old  fool,  if  that's  being 
one." 

"  But  pray  where  did  she  go  ?  " 
asked  Adrian,  a  good  deal  startled 
and  puzzled.  He  was  relieved  how- 
ever when  he  was  told  that  besides 
some  charitable  offices  regularly  per- 
formed in  connection  with  Dr.  Toom- 
ston's  church,  she  had  resorted  to  no 
place  worse  than  —  the  old  gentleman 
rather  hesitated  but  at  last  came  out 
with  it  —  divers  spiritualist  "  circles," 
and  the  meetings  in  public  and  pri- 
vate of  a  certain  so-called  Solidariie 
de  VAvenir,  or  of  the  members  of  the 
same. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Adrian,  a 
little  vexed,  for  he  had  a  strong  pre- 


judice in  favor  of  using  English  words 
whenever  they  would  do.  —  "  What's 
that?  —  a  French  Red  Republican 
club  ?  " 

''  Oh  no,"  replied  Mr.  Van  Braam, 
somewhat  embarrassed;  "they  are 
advanced  reformers,  irrespective  of 
nationality  or  creed  or  politics." 

Adrian,  if  he  had  done  exactly  as 
he  wanted  to,  would  now  have  pro- 
nounced a  vigorous  invective  against 
sundry  doctrines  and  practices.  But 
as  was  observed,  he  had  a  good  deal 
of  natural  tact,  and  he  felt  that  if  he 
could  serve  his  relatives  in  this  mat- 
ter, it  must  be  not  as  an  opposer,  but 
as  a  sympathizer.  Besides,  he  re- 
flected in  a  moment,  that  these  peo- 
ple might  be  very  deserving  people, 
after  all.  And  .a  plan  of  campaign 
occurred  to  him,  simple  enough,  and 
effective  if  it  should  appear  that  any 
thing  at  all  could  be  clone.  It  was  sim- 
ply to  take  the  position  of  an  interest- 
ed inquirer  into  what  Mr.  Van  Braam 
thought  proper  to  call  "'psychology 
and  sociology,"  to  stay  in  the  city  as 
long  as  he  could,  and  to  watch  over 
Civille  as  closely  as  possible  without 
offence,  in  the  character  of  an  escort 
and  fellow  votary  in  these  profound 
researches  of  hers,  and  to  see  in  the 
meanwhile  what  could  have  occasioned 
the  abominable  imputation  that  had 
been  cast  upon  her. 

To  Mr.  Van  Braam,  however,  he 
put  the  matter  as  one  of  cousinly 
kindness  ;  and  the  sweet  and  disin- 
terested nature  of  the  good  old  gen- 
tleman receiving  such  a  motive  in 
another  as  a  most  reasonable  and  com- 
petent one,  the  scheme  was  agreed 
on. 

"But  Ann,"  suggested  Mr.  Van 
Braam  —  "might  she  not  be  an- 
noyed ?  " — 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Adrian  with  perfect 
confidence.      "I    shall    tell    her   all 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


75 


about  it  of  course.  And  she  is  too 
fond  of  Civille  not  to  be  right  glad  I 
can  be  of  service.  And  she  is  too 
good  for  any  misunderstanding  on 
such  a  point.  I  shall  be  careful  not 
to  let  Civille  know,  but  I  shall  tell 
Ann  the  first  time  I  see  her  —  to- 
morrow, I  presume." 

'*  I  don't  know  but  you're  right," 
said  the  poor  old  gentleman,  "  but  I 
declare  it  seems  to  me  as  if  my  girl 
was  being  shown  up  all  over" — he 
almost  cried,  and  had  to  stop. 

"Well,  Ann  shall  not  know,"  said 
Adrian  at  once.  "  She  may  suppose 
I  am  only  interested  in  the  reform 
movement.  I  am  interested  in  re- 
forms, and  so  is  she.  She  is  bound 
to  be,  as  a  church  member.  And  we 
shall  both  be  glad  to  have  her  go 
with  us.  And  I  can  answer  for  it 
that  she  shall  have  faith  in  both  of 
us." 

It  was  so  decided ;  and  Adrian  pro- 
ceeded to  make  a  number  of  desultory 
inquiries  about  the  Solidarite  and  its 
associated  interests,  partly  for  infor- 
mation, partly  with  a  view  to  instil 
into  Mr.  Van  Braam's  mind,  by  way 
of  .precaution,  the  same  belief  which 
Civille  was  to  entertain,  viz.,  that 
Adrian  was  a  genuine  catechumen. 
The  old  gentleman,  wbo  was  really  a 
good  deal  cheered  and  comforted  by 
Adrian's  energetic  and  whole  hearted 
sympathy  and  help,  gave  what  ac- 
count he  could  of  these  reforms,  but 
he  knew  only  what  his  daughter  had 
told  him,  and  furnished  nothing  but 
indistinct  hints.  While  he  was  in 
t\  e  midst  of  them,  there  was  a  ring 
s'  the  door,  and  in  came  Scrope  of 
Scrope,  accompanied  by  a  stranger, 
whom  he  introduced  as  "  my  fwiend 
Mr.  Bird,  a  gentleman  connected  with 
the  pwess,"  further  explaining  that  lie 
had  taken  the  liberty  of  bringing  him 
as   he  himself  could   not   resist   the 


temptation  to  call,  an  d  having  to  go 
elsewhere  with  Mr.  Bird,  had  ventured 
thus  much;  which  excuse  was  gra- 
ciously received  by  Mr.  Van  Braam. 

Mr.  Bird  was  a  rather  slender 
young  man  with  a  dark  complexion, 
fine  gray  eyes,  wavy  black  hair,  live- 
ly expressive  features  and  a  sufficient- 
ly good  manner ;  and  being  politely 
received,  the  company  entered  upon 
that  brief  and  amicable  discussion  of 
the  weather  which  was  the  formal 
introduction  to  all  conversation  until 
General  Myer  took  out  all  its  inter- 
est by  eliminating  the  speculative 
element  and  reducing  it  to  a  mere 
prophecy.  What  comfort  or  advan- 
tage is  there  in  saying  "  Good  morn- 
ing, Brown.  Cautionary  signals  are 
ordered  at  Pumpanopeague,  Squank 
and  Bung  Head,"  and  in  answering 
"  Yes ;  but  the  area  of  low  barome- 
ter has  passed  from  Idaho  to  Arkan- 
sas, and  variable  weather  is  indicated 
in  the  Gulf  States." 

No  wonder  one  of  the  sages  of  the 
"metropolitan  press"  remarked  the 
other  day  that  the  art  of  conversation 
is  lost.  General  Myer  has  destroyed 
the  very  beginning  of  it. 

Mr.  Scrope,  after  a  few  minutes, 
gallantly  inquired  after  the  health  of 
his  cousin,  Miss  Van  Braam,  upon 
which  her  father  rang  and  sent  for 
her,  and  in  a  few  moments  she  en- 
tered. 

The  new  comer  was  duly  presented, 
and  Civille  placed  herself  in  her  usual 
nest,  as  she  was  accustomed  to  call  it, 
the  wadded  arm-chair,  which  almost 
always  stood  in  the  same  place  at 
your  left  hand  as  you  face  the  fire, 
and  with  the  little  two-story  wicker 
work-basket  close  to  it.  As  she  sat 
down  there  was  one  of  those  silences 
which  happens  every  now  and  then 
in  any  company,  and  Civille,  who 
had  gazed  indifferently  into  the  fire, 


76 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


after  a  moment  looked  up  with  a 
start :  — 

"What  are  you  all  looking  at  me 
for?  "  she  said.  —  And  they  were. 

The  extreme  natural  sensitiveness 
of  her  temperament,  was  in  truth  at 
present  carried  somewhat  beyond  the 
limit  of  heahhy  activity,  and  her 
mind  was  beginning  to  receive  im- 
pressions through  any  of  the  nervous 
extremities,  without  regard  to  the  reg- 
ular channels  of  the  five  senses.  That 
is,  she  was  beginning  to  be  a  "clair- 
voyant." But  supposing  her  to  be 
at  all  susceptible  to  the  gaze  of  others, 
her  consciousness  of  it  was  not  so 
strange  either,  for  all  four  of  the  men 
had  really  been  looking  at  her  with 
positive,  and  two  of  them  with  intense 
emotion. 

The  precise  phenomenon  which 
had  been  the  centre  of  crystallization 
for  all  their  looks,  was  a  rare  and 
lovely  one,  though  very  simple.  It 
was  only,  while  Civille  entered  the 
room,  came  forward,  received  the  visi- 
tors, turned  aside  and  sat  down,  — 
the  spiritually  perfect  grace  and  ease 
of  her  movements. 

Beauty  of  feature  is  almost  common, 
in  America;  refinement  and  intelli- 
gence of  feature  absolutely  so.  But 
gracefulness  is  very  rare.  Among 
men,  —  why,  the  idea  is  superfluous  ; 
no  matter  about  it  either  way.  But 
among  women,  whose  business  is 
beauty  ;  —  a  man  who  knows  say  a 
hundred  ladies  well  enough  to  recollect 
distinctly  the  traits  and  manner  of 
each,  can  perhaps  select  one,  possibly 
two,  but  very  likely  none,  —  who  pos- 
sess that  supreme  and  divine  grace  of 
beautiful  motion.  Even  to  be  able 
to  recognize  and  admire  it,  if  not  due 
to  unusual  natural  keenness  of  per- 
ception, is  in  itself  an  elegant  culture. 
What  most  people  call  beauty  is  of 
the  forms  and  colors  of  the  face  only. 


The  person  of  a  woman  is  most  often 
taken  for  granted,  or  ignored.  But 
there  may  be  real  beauty,  —  wdiich 
by  the  way  is  of  the  whole  person, 
from  the  crown  of  the  head  to  the 
tips  of  the  toes  —  without  graceful- 
ness. What  does  give  gracefulness  — 
beauty  of  motion  —  is  unknown.  It 
is  something  of  the  body,  and  some- 
thing of  the  soul.  But  whatever  it 
is,  Civille  had  it.  As  for  her  father, 
he  never  thought  of  that  perfection 
alone;  for  him,  she  was  all  that  is 
lovely.  He  would  have  silently  con- 
temned any  suggestion  that  she  had 
not  that  attraction,  or  any  other;  but 
his  sense  of  all  her  sweetnesses  was 
drowned  in  his  own  extreme  emotion 
of  love,  and  as  she  glided  in,  he 
thought  neither  that  she  was  lovely 
nor  pale  nor  good,  but  only,  '■  My 
darling,  my  darling ! "  As  for  the 
three  young  men,  the  case  was  other- 
wise, as  was  natural  and  right.  For 
each  of  them,  the  invisible,  uncon- 
scious, universal,  unfailing  enchant- 
ment was  upon  him.  They  did  not 
either  of  them  say,  or  think,  or  know, 
that  he  was  to  marry  Civille,  or  that 
he  could,  or  that  he  wished  to,  or  that 
he  would  under  any  circumstances. 
Yet,  humanly  speaking,  it  was  a  pos- 
sibility ;  and  distant  and  absolutely 
unremembered  as  it  was,  or  as  was 
even  the  idea  of  so  much  as  venturing 
to  kiss  her  hand,  this  it  was  which 
lent  a  faintest  rose-color  to  their  re- 
gards. 

The  uncompromising  directness  of 
her  question  startled  them  all  in  their 
turn. 

"  I  always  look  at  you,  my  dear," 
said  the  old  man,  simply. 

"I  was  hoping  you  had  had  no 
more  trouble  with  your  head,"  said 
Adrian,  —  and  so  he  was;  but  his 
thoughts  had  been  almost  impassioned 
even  in  the  moment  of  his  looks,  for 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


i  i 


he  had  feU  an  even  painful  sense  of 
her  helplessness,  unconscious  and  pure 
as  he  knew  her  to  be,  innocent  as  a 
baby,  and  with  a  charge  of  vulgar 
street  theft  lying  in  wait  for  her,  and 
there  followed  instantly  an  intense 
shock  as  it  were  of  resolve  that  he 
would  keep  not  only  the  danger,  but 
the  very  knowledge  of  it,  away  from 
her.  He  had  moreover  perceived  — 
and  for  the  first  time,  this  wonderful 
loveliness  in  her  steps  and  gestures, 
—  and  he  felt  it. 

"  I  was  admiwing  to  see  how  gwace- 
fully  you  moved,"  said  Scrope,  bluntly. 
Like  most  Englishmen, — not  that 
it  is  wholly  wrong  either  —  he  saw 
women  and  horses  with  eyes  a  good 
deal  the  same ;  but  he  was  the  only 
one  of  the  three  who  told  the  whole 
story,  after  all. 

As  for  Mr.  Bird,  what  did  he  tell  ? 
He  began  with  just  such  an  assertion 
as  has  prefaced  many  a  special  lie  — 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  said, 
"  I  was  wondering  particularly  how 
that  fine  engraving  on  the  mantle- 
piece  came  to  be  so  damaged." 

This  dexterous  or  at  least  apposite 
diversion  turned  the  conversation ; 
the  story  of  the  picture  was  told,  there 
was  an  animated  inquiry  about  the 
substitute  to  be  chosen.  Civille  was 
glad  the  camel  was  at  last  dead ;  it 
mack'  her  faint  to  look  at  it,  she  said; 
she  hated  agony  pictures  as  much  as 
Adrian. 

"  Then  Saint  Sebastian  won't  do," 
remarked  Scrope,  "  nor  Isaiah  being 
sawn  asunder;  nor  the  Crucifixion  of 
St.  Peter  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don't !  "  exclaimed  the  young 
lady,  with  a  shudder.  "  I  always  feel 
as  if  the  arrows  had  been  fired  into 
my  own  shoulder !  I  believe  I  am 
growing  more  and  more  nervous. 
But  it's  no  wonder  to-day,  for  I  got 
such  a  fright  this  morning !  " 


"  What  was  it,  my  dear  ?  "  quickly 
asked  the  old   gentleman. 

"  Oh,  it  can't  have  been  any  thing, 
of  course.  But  I  thought  there  was 
some  one  following  me.  While  I  was 
in  at  Jenks  and  Trainor's,  there  was 
a  man  buying  something  near  me,  and 
I  saw  him  twice  afterwards  —  once  I 
am  sure  it  was  he,  just  as  I  came  out 
of  another  store  ;  and  I  thought  I  saw 
him  on  the  platform  after  I  got  into 
the  street  car.  I  have  always  de- 
spised women  that  I  have  heard  speak 
of  being  annoyed  in  that  way,  but  I 
sha'n't  any  more.  It  was  excessively 
unpleasant." 

All  the  gentleman,  as  men  are 
pretty  likely  to  do  in  such  a  case, 
made  rather  elaborate  representations 
intended  to  dissipate  Civille's  disa- 
greeable impression.  Perhaps  they 
were  too  elaborate ;  for  although  she 
thanked  them,  she  did  not  seem  re- 
lieved. It  is  true  that  Scrope,  accord- 
ing to  his  fashion,  performed  what  he 
meant  for  a  compliment ;  a  not  very 
elegantly  worded  intimation  that  the 
unknown  showed  good  taste  in  his 
selection. 

"Thank  you  sir,"  answered  Miss 
Van  Braarn  —  as  has  been  hinted  she 
had  abundance  of  spirit  sometimes  — 
"  I  can't  see  the  compliment  of  his 
taking  me  for  a  person  willing  to  be 
followed  by  a  perfect  stranger." 

And  the  Englishman  was  snubbed  ; 
for  even  he  felt  that  he  should  only 
make  the  matter  worse  by  explaining 
what  he  had  meant.  A  compliment 
to  a  lady,  like  a  vote  in  congress, 
should  never  need  explanation.  But 
Adrian  seized  his  opportunity  : 

"  Cousin  Civille,  your  father  has 
been  telling  me  something  about  your 
interest  in  some  reformers  and  their 
discussions.  I  find  I  am  to  be  in 
New  York  rather  longer  than  I 
thought.      A   visitor,   you   know,   is 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


always  more  eager  to  see  the  sights 
than  a  New  Yorker;  and  I  want  you 
to  let  me  escort  you  about  a  little  ;  will 
you  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  with 
her  half-hidden  look  of  distant  dream- 
ing ;  it  gave  him  an  impression  that 
she  was  looking  into  his  motives.  It 
was  only  her  way  however.  "  I  heg 
pardon,"  she  said,  recollecting  herself, 
—  "I  was  considering  —  Yes,  I 
should  like  it  very  much." 

And  three  appointments  were  made 
on  the  spot,  covering  Civille's  opera- 
tions as  a  reformer  and  sociologist 
for  the  current  week.  One  was  to 
attend  a  spiritual  "  seance"  the  next 
(viz.  Thursday)  evening;  one  to  at- 
tend the  weekly  meeting  of  the  Soli- 
darity de  VAvenir  on  Friday;  and 
one,  to  visit  the  chief  philosopher,  or 
President,  or  whatever  his  title  may 
he,  of  the  said  Solidarite,  at  his  house, 
when  it  should  be  convenient,  for 
a  deep  conference  upon  "The  Re- 
adjustment of  Things  in  General," 
which  readjustment,  as  it  would  seem, 
Mr.  President  had  kindly  proposed 
to  conduct,  and  which  he  had  already 
got  so  far  advanced  that  a  centre  of 
operations  to  be  called  The  Germ, 
as  being  the  Nucleus  of 'the  New 
Universe,  was  actually  to  be  organized 
within  a  few  months  and  perhaps 
weeks. 

Messrs.  Scrope  and  Bird,  who  like- 
wise proceeded  to  profess  a  profound 
kiterest  in  these  matters,  being  a  little 
behind-hand  with  their  zeal,  received 
only  permission  to  attend  the  meet- 
ing of  the  Solidarite  ;  where,  Miss 
Civille  informed  them,  was  the  centre 
of  activity  of  the  great  network  of 
new  agencies  which  was  swiftly  leav- 
ening the  age,  and  where  they  would 
find  all  the  requisite  opportunities  for 
aiding  in  the  great  work  to  any  extent 
whatever. 


Mr.  Scrope  now  rose  to  take  leave, 
explaining  that  Mr.  Bird,  who  knew 
all  about  New  York,  had  agreed  to 
pilot  him  to  an  entertaining  exhibi- 
tion appointed  that  evening,  of  what 
Mr.  Scrope  thought  proper  to  call 
"The  Manly  Game  of  Billiards." 
Adrian,  himself  an  amateur  in  a  small 
way,  at  once  asked  permission  tc  ac- 
company them,  which  was  readily 
given,  and  the  three  young  men  went 
off  together,  Adrian  leaving  his  treas- 
ured pamphlet  for  the  time  in  the 
charge  of  Mr.  Van  Braam. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

As  the  young  men  left  the  old 
house  together,  Adrian  quoted  from  a 
certain  ancient  anthology  : 

"  We're  three  brethren  out  of  Spain, 
Come  to  court  your  daughter  Jane." 

"Jane's  no  fool,  either,"  comment- 
ed Scrope  ;  "  she  might  ave  answered 
for  herself  as  the  old  lady  did  : 

'  My  daughter  Jane  is  yet  too  young, 
To  be  snared  by  your  false  nattering  tongue.' 

Hay,  Bird? — We  couldn't  secure 
invitations." 

"  I'm  going  to  the  meeting  Friday 
evening  though,"  observed  Mr.  Bird, 
in  his  quiet  evasive  way  ;  "  I'd  like  to 
see  what  those  people  are  about." 

"  Now  for  my  part,"  said  Scrope, 
"I'd  far  rather  sit  in  one  of  their 
dark  circles.  Hit's  very  funny,  I 
assure  you.  Great  chance  for  the 
finer  feelinks." 

Adrian  had  perceived  in  the  very 
first  words  of  the  young  man,  —  more 
perhaps  in  tone  and  air  than  in  their 
positive  meaning,  something  very 
disagreeable.  It  was  as  if  being  now 
with  men,  and  young  men,  onl}-,  Mr. 
Scrope  felt  that  some  restraints  of 
some  kind  were  removed.     There  was 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


79 


something  not  of  freedom  only  but 
of  recklessness,  in  his  talk,  in  his 
voice,  and  Adrian  fancied,  in  his  step. 
Adrian,  who  was  free  enough,  but 
who  was  clean,  had  already  felt,  as  he. 
had  intimated  to  Mr.  Van  Braam, 
something  opposed  to  himself  in  this 
young  person,  and  had  defined  it  as 
an  ignorance  of  the  difference  between 
right  and  wrong. 

'•'  Smoke  ?  "  said  Scrope,  drawing 
forth  a  well  filled  cigar-case  and  of- 
fering it  to  his  companions.  Adrian 
declined,  and  Bird  accepted.  There 
was  a  halt  while  the  two  smokers 
"  fired  up;  "  and  Scrope  said,  pleasant- 
ly enough, 

"  Hope  it's  not  disagreeable  to  you, 
Mr.  Chester  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  object,"  said  Adrian  ; 
"  and  by  the  way,  as  everybody 
smokes  in  the  street  here,  and  so  I  can 
ask  as  a  mere  matter  of  curiosity, 
without  being  rude,  please  to  tell  me 
if  it  is  the  etiquette  in  London  too  ?  " 

"  Wy,  not  exactly  the  ticket  any- 
were,  I  should  say,"  answered  Scrope  ; 
"  but  wot's  the  odds,  as  long  as  you're 
appy  ?  " 

"  Very  little  odds,"  said  Adrian ; 
"  but  I'm  luckier  than  you  two  gentle- 
men, for  I  haven't  got  tired  of  God's 
fresh  air  yet.  When  I  do  I  shall  be 
ready  for  smells.  If  I  had  to  live  in 
Mr.  Van  Braam's  parlor  I  think  I 
should  learn  to  smoke  though." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Bird  —  "  As  the 
mountaineer  remarked  the  first  time 
he  tasted  a  codfish-ball,  '  Something 
dead  in  there ! '  That  can't  be  a 
healthy  house  to  live  in." 

"The  fact  is,"  said  Adrian,  "I 
perceive  a  good  deal  of  that  same 
deadness  in  the  air  all  over  this  city." 
"  By  the  way,  Chester,"  said 
Scrope  —  familiarly,  as  Adrian 
thought —  ';a  neat  thing  that  of 
yours  last  evening  about  women  being 


good.     Vewy   telling  compliment  in- 
deed." 

"  All  the  better  for  being  true/: 
said  Adrian,  not  entirely  pleased. 

"  Oh,  —  beg  pardon,"  said  Scrope, 
"  if  I  wan  against  an  opinion  —  I 
never  mean  to  do  that." 

"  Why,  you  can't  help  it  some- 
times," said  Adrian. 

"If  you  have  any  of  your  own," 
remarked  Mr.  Bird. 

"  Oh,  I  haven't,''  said  Scrope, 
with  every  appearance  of  sincerity. 
"There's  no  choice  of  opinions.  I'd 
like  to  do  some  things,  and  I  want 
people  to  help  me ;  but  I  entertain  all 
their  views  just  as  they  come.  A7ewy 
convenient  indeed." 

"  Wouldn't  do  for  a  missionary," 
observed  Bird  — 

"  But "  said  Scrope,  with  an  unex- 
pected readiness  of  Scriptural  quota- 
tion, "  St.  Paul  says  we  may  be  all 
things  to  all  men  if  we  are  only  try- 
ing to  save  them." 

"  Ah,"  retorted  Bird,  "  but  he 
doesn't  say  you  may  say  all  things." 

"  And  besides,"  joined  in  Adrian, 
"  a  fair  interpretation  makes  it  neces- 
sary to  understand  '  all  good  things.'  " 

•'  Sure  enough,"  assented  Scrope, 
who  at  once  showed  "  the  courage  of 
his  won-opinions,"  —  "sure  enough,  — 
you're  quite  wight." 

Thus  chatting  amicably  they  walked 
a  few  blocks  up  town  until  they 
reached  a  point  on  the  cross-town 
Bleecker  Street  line  of  horse-cars, 
where  they  got  aboard,  and  disem- 
barked at  the  corner  of  Broadway  and 
Bleecker  Street. 

Piloted  by  Mr.  Bird,  the  three 
friends  turned  northward,  taking  the 
eastern  side  of  Broadway ;  but  they 
had  hardly  gone  half  a  block  when 
Scrope,  stopping  suddenly  at  the 
opening  of  a  wide  flight  of  steps  lead- 
ing down  into  a  basement,  said, 


80 


Scrope;    or,  The  Lost  Library. 


"  Will  it  do  to  go  down  here  ?  I've 
never  seen  one  of  these  places." 

"Oh  yes,"  acquiesced  Bird  — 
"  there's  time  to  just  look  in  and  have 
a  single  glass  of  heer." 

It  is  no  wonder  that  the  young  man 
was  attracted,  not  by  the  beauty,  but 
hy  the  glare,  of  even  this  cellar  stair- 
way ;  for  a  broad  sheet  of  light 
seemed  actually  to  flame  up,  as  if  from 
some  intense  subterranean  conflagra- 
tion. This  light  came  from  a  profuse 
supply  of  gas-jets,  of  which  one  pow- 
erful combination,  placed  over  the 
doorway,  —  that  is,  just  below  the 
level  of  the  sidewalk,  blazoned  forth 
the  letters  of  the  words  "  The  Para- 
dise." Gaudy  transparencies  to  the 
same  effect  were  also  adjusted  at  the 
sides  of  the  stairway,  also  even  with 
the  sidewalk.  As  you  looked  down, 
a  great  screen,  placed  just  within  the 
open  door,  all  bathed  in  the  same 
blazing  blinding  glare  of  gas-light, 
shut  off  the  mysteries  within  from 
casual  peeps,  and  at  the  same  time 
displayed  what  might  be  supposed  the 
picture  of  one  of  the  Peris  of  the 
place — but  she  was  far  from  being 
the  disconsolate  one  of  the  poet.  It 
was  a  painting  in  distemper,  in  glar- 
ing color,  all  reel  and  white,  of  some 
kind  of  princess  or  other  reclining  in 
state,  with  a  crown  of  roses,  a  laconic 
costume,  extremely  developed  con- 
tours, and  sporting  in  unconscious 
glee  with  a  tremendous  birdling, 
which  might  be  either  a  vast  parrot 
or  a  green  owl ;  for  the  creature  had 
been  very  broadly  generalized  by  the 
artist,  who  may  have  been  represent- 
ing a  Bird  of  Paradise  of  a  new  sort ; 
or  he  was  perhaps  offering  a  pre-his- 
toric  type;  possibly  his  own  private 
notion  of  an  archseopteryx.  And  more- 
over, there  thrilled  up  the  rather  dirty 
stairway,  mingling  as  it  were  with 
this  Hood  of  light,  an  indistinct  mur- 


mur of  voices,  and  a  flood  of  music, 
to  wit,  the  enrapturing  strains  of 
"  Champagne  Charley  "  —  which  no- 
ble composition  had  then  just  come 
across  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

"  Then  you'll  be  a  Bird  of  Paradise 
for  the  time  being,"  said  Mr.  Scrope 
to  the  "  member  of  the  Press,"  as  they 
went  down  the  stairs,  Adrian  following 
with  curiosity,  yet  with  distinct  repug- 
nance. For  as  he  stepped  down,  his 
senses  were  offended  by  a  strong  gush 
of  warm  and  almost  hot  air  rushing 
out  from  the  interior,  infamously  de- 
filed with  odors  not  of  paradise,  but 
of  pandemonium ;  rank  tobacco,  bad 
liquor,  undrained  cellarage,  coarse  edi- 
bles, foul  breaths,  dirty  persons  —  a 
hideous  swash  that  made  him  feel  as 
if  he  were  drowning  in  putrefaction. 
But  he  was  unwilling  to  interfere 
with  the  wishes  of  his  companions, 
and  he  had  a  certain  curiosity  to  see 
the  place,  particularly  as  they  were 
not  to  stay  long.  He  could  not  have 
staid  long,  indeed,  with  his  cleanly  and 
fresh-air  habits.  But  they  did  not  stay 
even  as  long  as  they  had  intended. 

This  Paradise  was  one  of  the  thou- 
sands of  doorways  to  hell  which  the 
respectable  citizens  of  New  York 
maintain  along  the  chief  thorough- 
fare of  their  city,  to  rot  young 
men  and  women; — a  "concert  sa- 
loon." The  three  young  men,  sub- 
merging themselves  in  the  fetid  at- 
mosphere of  the  place,  passed  behind 
the  great  daub  of  the  bare-legged  Peri. 
The  interior  was  no  doubt  familiar  to 
the  newspaper  man ;  to  Scropc  it  was 
very  likely  only  a  variety  of  what  he 
had  seen  in  London  or  Paris ;  but  to 
Adrian  it  was  quite  new.  It  was  a 
rather  low  but  roomy  and  very  long 
apartment,  strongly  lighted  through- 
out, the  walls  and  ceiling  whitewashed, 
the  floor  sanded  and  thickly  set  with 
plain    round    wooden    tables.      Half 


Scropc;  or,   The  Lost  Library. 


81 


way  down  one  side  was  a  platform  on 
which  the  orchestra  were  established 
—  a  jangling  old  piano,  two  fiddles,  a 
key-bugle,  a  clarinet  and  a  bass-viol 
were  the  instruments.  At  nearly  all 
the  tables  were  customers,  all  wearing 
their  hats,  most  of  them  smoking,  all 
with  liquors  of  some  kind,  some  with 
plates  of  Schweizer-kase  and  mus- 
tard, or  with  slices  of  Bologna  sau- 
sage also.  The  waiters  who  supplied 
these  customers  were  almost  equally 
numerous.  They  were  young  girls, 
dressed  in  a  coarse  high  colored  kind 
of  uniform,  vulgar  and  dirty,  on  the 
pattern  of  the  Peri  ;  some  flitting 
hither  and  thither  with  small  waiters 
containing  glasses  and  plates,  some 
sitting  in  familiar  conversation  with 
the  drinkers,  and  a  group  gathered 
before  the  bar,  which  was  at  one  side 
just  within  the  door,  giving  orders, 
returning  empty  glasses  and  receiving 
full  ones,  and  all  the  time  chattering, 
laughing,  singing  or  scolding  ;  while 
the  bar-keeper,  with  two  assistants, 
was  exerting  a  preternatural  activity 
in  serving  out  the  commodities  of  the 
place. 

Bird  led  the  way  straight  through 
this  noisy  crowd  of  girls.  Adrian's 
ear  was  inexpressibly  shocked  by  the 
raspin  g  harshness  of  their  tones,  wheth- 
er they  spoke  or  sang  or  laughed.  It 
was  in  sound,  what  you  may  some- 
times see  in  color  where  an  old  pic- 
ture has  been  abused  by  the  cleaner, 
and  all  the  delicacy  and  goodness 
of  the  coloring  removed,  leaving 
glaring  harsh  masses  of  ground  tint. 
He  had  never  before  heard  that  awful 
voice  —  for  ineffably  awful  it  is  —  the 
undertone  of  ruin.  A  grotesque  si- 
militude arose  in  his  mind;  he  thought 
of  the  dry  clashing  and  clattering  of 
potsherds.  As  they  passed  on,  Bird 
accidentally  jostled  one  of  the  girls, 
whose  mug  of  beer  was  spilled.     She 


had  been  chanting  along  with  the 
music  ;  but  turning  short  with  a  furi- 
ous face,  she  uttered  an  elaborate  curse. 
That  also,  perhaps  the  most  complete- 
ly fiendish  sound  on  earth,  the  curs- 
ing and  swearing  of  women,  Adrian 
had  never  heard  before ;  and  he 
wished  he  was  out.  Bird  begged  her 
pardon,  paid  for  the  beer,  and  with 
perfect  good  humor  handed  her  a 
further  sum,  saying, 

"Never  mind,  sis;  there's  half-a- 
dollar  for  yourself  besides."  Her  face 
cleared  as  quickly  as  it  had  flushed, 
and  she  laughed  loudly,  saying,  "All 
right,  my  dear.  You're  a  gentleman 
and  a  scholar." 

Making  their  way  to  one  of  the 
tables,  they  sat  down.  One  of  the 
girls  came  and  took  their  orders  for 
three  glasses  of  beer. 

"  What  for  me,  gentlemen  ?  "  she 
said. 

"  Oh,  any  thing  you  like,"  replied 
Bird. 

"Sherry  wine,  then,"  was  the  an- 
swer, and  she  went  off  to  get  the 
liquors. 

"  Pray  do  they  drink  all  the  even- 
ing?" asked  Adrian,  astonished. 

"  Oh,  they  make  everybody  order 
something  for  them,  if  they  can,"  ex- 
plained Bird,  "  for  the  good  of  the 
house.  She  said  wine  because  it  costs 
more.  Then  she  brings  it  to  drink 
with  us  —  but  it's  colored  water,  and 
the  price  of  wine  goes  into  the  till." 

She  returned  with  the  glasses. 
Scrope,  who  had  been  singing  "  Cham- 
pagne Charley  "  along  with  the  Mart- 
ing  key-bugle,  stinted  in  his  song, 
and  touched  glasses  with  the  girl,  and 
they  drank.  Adrian  barely  touched 
the  stuff  to  his  lips.  It  had  the 
sharp  poisonous  bitter  flavor  of  cheap 
beer. 

"  Worst  liquors  in  New  York  city, 
in  this  hole,"  said  Bird. 


82 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


At  this  moment  a  tall  young  fellow. 
in  a  seedy  black  frock-coat  and  black 
felt  hat,  came  unsteadily  along,  hold- 
ing by  chairs  and  tables,  and  balanced 
himself  right  opposite  Adrian,  next 
whom  the  girl  had  sat  down  while 
Mr.  Bird  made  change.  Adrian  had 
been  noting  the  coarse  texture  and 
very  dirty  condition  of  the  cheap  red 
and  white  stuff  of  her  dress,  the  paint 
on  her  cheeks,  and  .he  noticed  more- 
over that  her  face  as  well  as  her 
arms  and  neck  were  very  thin  ;  and 
she  coughed. 

'•'  I'm  afraid  you're  not  very  well,'"' 
he  said,  naturally  enough,  iu  his  sym- 
pathetic way.  The  girl  felt  the  kind- 
ness in  his  voice,  and  shook  her  head 
in  silence,  but  as  if  recollecting  her- 
self, she  laughed  in  the  loud  rattling 
manner  of  the  place  and  said  in  her 
dry,  harsh  voice, 

'•'  Well  as  a  fish,  my  dear.  Say, 
give  us  a  dollar,  will  you  ?  " 

The  drunken  young  man  spoke  sud- 
denly, with  the  indistinct  utterance 
of  intoxication,  and  the  thick  husky 
tone  of  habitual  intoxication  : 

"  Look  here  }rou  !  —  Goin  home 
with  that  gal  ?  " 

Adrian  looked  up  at  the  abomina- 
ble dark  red  face,  the  swimming 
bleared  half-shut  eyes,  dim  yet  vi- 
cious, the  flabby,  almost  hanging, 
thick  lips.  It  was  as  if  the  very  genius 
of  the  den  was  accosting  him.  The 
first  impression  was  that  of  nauseat- 
ing disgust;  the  next  was  anger;  for 
Adrian  had  not  learned  the  topers' 
conventionality  that  a  drunken  man 
is  to  be  humored ;  and  he  answered, 
"  None  of  your  business  !  " 
Without  a  word,  the  young  man 
L-'ft^d  a  chair  by  which  he  was  hold- 
ing and  raising  it  over  his  head  with 
both  bauds,  aimed  a  blow  full  at 
Adrian  ;  but  he  was  so  drunk  that 
he  could  not  handle  himself,  and  the 


chair  fell  short,  coming  down  with  a 
crash  on  the  table,  breaking  a  glass 
or  two ;  and  the  brute,  pitching  for- 
ward, saved  himself  with  his  bands 
as  well  as  he  could ;  but  they  both 
slopped  into  the  spilled  beer,  one  was 
cut  on  a  piece  of  broken  glass  and 
bled  freely,  and  his  head  meeting  the 
chair,  his  felt  hat  was  shoved  awry. 
Recovering  himself  somewhat,  be  un- 
steadily raised  himself  again,  looked 
muddily  about,  muttered  some  oath, 
drew  his  wet  and  bleeding  hand 
across  bis  face,  leaving  a  track  of  beer 
and  blood,  and  would  have  made  his 
way  round  the  table  towards  Adrian. 
But  Adrian  and  his  companions 
all  sprang  up;  the  girl  herself  quick- 
ly stepped  round  to  the  drunken  fel- 
low, and  without  showing  an}r  signs 
of  fear,  disgust,  or  indeed  any  other 
emotion,  put  her  arms  round  him  and 
said  quietly, 

"  It's  all  right,  Jim.  Sit  down  ;  I'll 
get  you  a  drink." 

"  No  danger,  gentlemen,"  added 
one  of  the  men  from  the  bar.  who  had 
hurried  up  as  soon  as  he  saw  that 
there  was  a  scuffle. 

"  I  shouldn't  think  there  was,"  said 
Bird  coolly ;  "  that  scoundrel's  too 
drunk.  You've  no  business  to  let  him 
come  in  here  at  all  in  that  state.  I've 
a  great  mind  to  have  your  place  pulled. 
I've  only  got  to  see  Captain  Wallace 
to  have  it  done,  as  you  know  very 
well." 

"  We  don't  mean  to  have  any 
trouble,"  answered  the  man,  abashed 
and  disconcerted  at  Bird's  steady  tone. 
"Hope  you  won't  do  it.  Make  it 
all  right  with  you,  with  pleasure,  sir," 
he  insinuated. 

••  Well,  never  mind  this  time,"  was 
the  reply.  "  We  were  only  stopping 
a  moment,  anyhow.  Come,  gentle- 
men." And  they  went  out,  amidst  a 
brief  silence  that  came  down  upon  all 


Scrope  ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


S3 


the  noisy  talk,  while  everybody  looked 
to  see  what  the  disturbance  was,  and 
the  toneless  jangling  bang  and  toot  of 
the  poor  little  orchestra,  sounding 
alone  in  the  place  for  the  moment, 
served  as  a  kind  of  Rogue's  March, 
Adrian  could  not  but  think,  as  it 
were  to  drum  them  out  of  this  devil's 
camp.  But  all  the  noises,  —  gruff  talk, 
loud  orders,  tipsy  singing,  harsh  laugh- 
ter, curses  and  all,  began  again  before 
they  had  reached  the  door.  And  as 
Adrian  stepped  out  on  the  sidewalk, 
he  felt  filthy,  defiled  through  and 
through,  unfit  for  decent  society  —  as 
one  might  feel  who  has  been  soaked 
and  all  but  drowned  in  a  cess-pool, 
barely  escaping  alive. 


"Well,  'that's  enough,"  he  ex- 
claimed, as  he  drew  a  long  breath  — 
"  why,  that  even  makes  a  New  York 
street  seem  clean  !  But  Mr.  Bird, 
what  did  he  mean  by  saying  that 
he  would  make  it  right  with  you  ?  " 

'•Rather  hand  me  fifty  dollars  than 
run  the  risk  of  having  his  place  bro- 
ken up." 

"  But  how  did  he  know  you  could 
do  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  anybody  could  do  it,  almost 
—  he  has  to  submit  to  some  such  ex- 
tortion every  little  while.  But  lie 
makes  so  much  out  of  the  business 
that  he  can  afford  to  bribe  pretty 
heavily." 

And  they  passed  on  up  Broadway. 


84 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


PART   IV. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  Axd  yet  there  are  a  great  deal 
worse  places  than  that  in  New  York," 
said  Bird,  reflectively,  as  they  passed 
up  Broadway,  beyond  Bond  Street  and 
Great  Jones  Street. 

"  What  ones  ? "  said  Scrope  at 
once,  and  with  perceptible  eagerness. 
And  Adrian,  sickened  as  he  was,  and 
though  he  said  nothing,  also  wanted 
to  know.  Ever  since  the  Tree  of 
Knowledge  of  Good  was  also  the  Tree 
of  Knowledge  of  Evil,  man's  instinct 
to  understand  has  asked  after  both. 
As  God  joined  the  two  knowledges 
together,  it  is  no  wonder  that  man  has 
not  }Tet  succeeded  in  putting  them 
asunder.  And  still,  there  was  a  great 
difference  between  the  animal  eager- 
ness of  Scrope  and  the  intellectual 
instinct  for  knowing  that  stirred  in 
Adrian,  and  which  he  distrusted  while 
he  felt  it. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"'  replied  Bird, 
"  police  reporting  is  one  of  the  rough- 
est pursuits  in  the  world,  I  suppose. 
It  is  in  that  line  <  that  I  have  seen 
things  —  Perhaps  I'll  tell  you  about 
them  some  day.  But  I  really  can't, 
now  —  it's  too  bad.  Besides,  some 
of  the  best  citizens  are  interested  in 
some  of  the  worst  of  them." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ? "  asked 
Adrian. 

"Why, — now  there's  that  Para- 
dise, for  instance,"  replied  the  police 
reporter, — for  such  his  words  implied 
that  he  was  —  "do  you  know  wdio 
owns  that  building?" 

"No,— who?" 

"It's  one  of  the  very  worst  holes 


on  Broadway.  There's  been  two  mur- 
ders there  that  I  know  of  already. 
They  break  all  the  ten  command- 
ments as  much  as  once  every  ten 
minutes,  almost  all  night.  And  it 
belongs  to  one  of  these  eminent  capi- 
talist fellows  that  are  so  respectable 
and  subscribe  to  all  sorts  of  things. 
Button,  his  name  is." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Adrian, 
shocked,  and  impulsively  —  "I  beg 
your  pardon,  what  I  mean  is  that  you 
must  be  mistaken.  I  know  Mr.  But- 
ton." 

"  Then  I  beg  your  pardon,  if  he  is 
a  friend  of  yours.  But  there's  no 
mistake  about  the  fact.  You  may  go 
with  me  to  the  register  of  disreputa- 
ble tenements  which  the  Police  keep 
at  the  Mulberry  Street  Headquarters, 
with  the  names  of  the  owners,  and 
I'll  show  it  to  you  written  out  in  full, 
and  then  you  may  go  and  search  the 
records  of  land  at  the  City  Hall  and 
find  the  deed  to  Mr.  Button  all  re- 
corded at  length." 

"But  why  don't  they  print  that 
whole  list  of  names  ?  " 

"  Reason  enough  :  it  would  show 
that  the  respectability  of  New  York 
gives  houseroom  to  the  crime  of  New 
York  and  so  maintains  it  for  money." 

"But  it  isn't  possible,"  persisted 
Adrian.  "  He  don't  know  it,  of 
course.  Or  he  has  let  the  place  to 
some  one  who  is  misusing  it  or  under- 
letting it  against  his  will." 

"  All  right,"  said  Bird  —  "  that's 
just  the  way  they  talk.  As  if  a  man 
like  him  would  own  a  building  on 
Broadway  and  not  know  wdiat  is  done 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


85 


with  it !  And  as  for  the  misuse  against 
his  will,  —  do  you  suppose  he  don't 
know  that  the  Paradise  is  a  law- 
hreaking  concern  every  night  of  the 
year,  and  that  he  can  have  it  shut 
now,  late  as  it  is,  before  midnight,  if 
he  chooses  ?  " 

Adrian  was  silent ;  for  the  truth 
had  hit  him  very  hard.  Bird  re- 
sumed : 

"  Of  course  there's  underletting  ; 
there's  an  agent,  and  a  tenant,  and 
one  or  two  undertenants.  Such 
places  pay  two  or  three  times  as  much 
rent  as  any  respectable  business  could 
pay ;  but  I  don't  insinuate  that  that 
has  any  thing  to  do  with  it.  Dear 
me,  no  ! " 

Adrian  said  no  more,  but  like  a 
straight-forward  and  clean-hearted 
young  fellow  as  he  was,  he  silently 
resolved  that  at  his  first  meeting  with 
Mr.  Button  he  would  reveal  to  him 
the  outrage  which  he  was  suffering  in 
this  matter.  "  I'll  have  the  pleasure 
of  shutting  up  one  hell-hole,"  he  said 
to  himself,  as  they  walked  along. 

In  a  few  moments  they  reached 
the  scene  of  the  proposed  exhibition  : 
a  billiard  saloon  known  as  "  Jack's," 
nearly  opposite  the  New  York  Hotel. 
They  entered  through  a  sort  of  fancy 
grocery  store,  and  turning  short  and 
passing  through  a  side  door  at  the 
back,  came  into  the  billiard  room  it- 
self, a  large  square  apartment,  imme- 
diately under  "  Hope  Chapel,"  and  of 
course  belonging  to  the  same  owner. 
A  magnificent  bar  stretched  all  the 
way  across  one  side ;  nine  full-sized 
tables  —  none  of  your  trifling  three- 
quarters  affairs  —  were  orderly  dis- 
posed in  three  ranks  upon  the  ample 
floor,  each  strongly  illuminated  with 
its  own  shaded  gas-lights,  the  wires 
with  the  wooden  beads  for  marking 
the  game  strung  upon  them,  hanging 
across  above   in  their  long  catenary 


curves,  and  the  armory-like  racks  of 
cues  standing  stiffly  back  against  the 
wall.  The  bar-keeper,  a  far  more 
magnificent  creature  than  his  guild- 
brother  of  the  Paradise  (particularly 
as  to  his  curled  and  shiny  hair ;  — 
there  must  be  some  mysterious  real 
connection  corresponding  to  the  coin- 
cident first  syllables  of  bar-ber  and 
bar-tender — )  was,  however,  no  less 
assiduous,  and  was  swiftly  ministering 
juleps  and  other  rivers  of  delight  — 
"  sweet  fields  arrayed  in  living  green 
(i.e.  the  juleps)  and  rivers  of  de- 
light," to  divers  persons  who  stood 
before  his  shrine.  Two  of  these, 
nearest  the  new-comers,  were  in  a 
muzzy  state,  talkative  and  disputa- 
tious, but  imbecilely  good  humored, 
and  were  at  the  moment  discussing  a 
weighty  point  in  orthoepy,  perhaps 
none  the  less  interesting  to  Adrian, 
who  was  close  to  them,  from  the  fact 
that  of  the  two  methods  of  spelling 
the  word  in  dispute  which  they  sev- 
erally asserted,  neither  agreed  with 
his  own. 

"  ]S"o  'tain't,"  said  one  —  "  it's  J,  e, 
r,  m,  y,  e,  r." 

"  Why  no  tisn't,"  said  the  other,  ar- 
ticulating with  the  most  painstaking 
distinctness,  —  "  it's  G,  u,  r,  m,  i,  a, 
r." 

"  Less  arsh  thish  genlmn,"  was  the 
reply,  and  they  began  to  submit  the 
question  of  the  grand  old  Hebrew 
mourner-poet-prophet's  name  to  Adri- 
an, who  briefly  assured  them  with 
a  bow  that  he  didn't  know  how  to  spell 
at  all,  and  pushed  forward  to  get 
away  from  their  drunkenness,  to  the 
front  rank  of  the  spectators.  These 
were  already  intently  beholding  the 
Billiard  Tournament,  which  was  in 
progress  upon  a  carom  table,  the  deep 
green  of  whose  cloth  testified  that  it 
had  been  newly  caparisoned,  doubt- 
less for  this  very  occasion. 


86 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


The  game  was  what  is  technically 
called  the  French  game,  played  with 
one  red  ball  and  two  white  ones,  and 
is  about  as  much  superior  to  the 
"  full  "  or  "American  four-ball  game  " 
as  chess  is  to  draughts.  The  two  he- 
roes who  were  contending  for  "  a  purse 
of  $500,  and  the  championship,"  were 
a  couple  of  serious  looking  youths, 
very  business-like  and  thoughtful  of 
aspect,  both  trim-built,  alert,  and  well- 
made,  and  with  a  professional  deftness 
of  execution  very  pleasant  to  see. 
There  was  nothing  so  very  remarka- 
ble about  their  play,  which  was  only 
for  the  State  Championship,  and  not 
for  the  vaster  supremacy  of  the  con- 
tinent :  the  whole  boundless  continent 
was  not  theirs  on  the  present  occasion, 
but  a  pent-up  New  York  contracted 
their  powers.  As  in  this  game  the 
nerves  are  at  least  as  important  as 
they  were  to  Mrs.  Wititterly,  applause 
or  disapproval  is  as  stringently  forbid- 
den as  it  would  be  at  a  funeral,  and 
the  silence  that  prevailed  was  almost 
oppressive.  Perhaps  a  hundred  con- 
noisseurs and  amateurs  were  present. 
From  one  or  two  distant  tables  where 
dullards  incapable  of  a  worthy  admi- 
ration were  pursuing  their  own  selfish 
amusement,  the  click  of  the  balls,  or 
some  quiet  remark,  echoed  faintly  now 
and  then;  or  some  silly  babble  from 
a  toper  at  the  bar  sounded  over  the 
heads  of  the  crowd;  but  they  them- 
selves were  impassible  as  Amphic- 
tyons.  Once  or  twice,  when  some 
brilliant  shot  round  the  table  restored 
a  desperate  run,  or  when  the  figures 
from  some  delicately  prolonged  pro- 
cess of  "nursing"  accumulated  high, 
an  irrepressible  murmur  of  excitement 
just  breathed  around;  but  only  to  be 
hushed  under  the  warning  glance  or 
the  quiet  gesture  of  the  umpire. 

Adrian  watched  with  much  enjoy- 
ment the  graceful  and  accurate  move- 


ments and  manipulations  of  the  two 
players,  and  the  almost  intelligent 
obedience  of  the  clean  ivory  balls,  that 
travelled  about  on  their  geometrical  er- 
rands over  the  green  level  of  the  table, 
touching  a  cushion  at  one  point,  giving 
a  delicate  tap  to  one  ball  in  afar  corner, 
coming  straight  back  home  to  tap  the 
other  ball,  then  trundling  off  a  little 
way  and  waiting  to  receive  the  next 
message.  At  last  the  game  was  up  ; 
the  winner,  with  one  or  two  hardy 
and  perilous  "shots  round  the  table  " 
and  one  brilliant  and  desperate  "  draw," 
completed  a  run  of  thirty,  and  the 
breathless  marker,  standing  mace  in 
hand,  called  out  "  Game  !  "  Then  the 
ring  broke  up,  the  prize  was  adjudged ; 
the  assembly  broke  out  into  a  loud 
buzz  of  conversation  and  debate  ;  there 
was  prompt  application  at  the  bar  for 
many  drinks ;  and  groups  of  two, 
three  or  four  at  once  occupied  all  the 
tables. 

"  Come,"  said  Scrope  promptly, 
"let's  have  a  game ;"  and  stepping 
swiftly  across  to  a  table  still  vacant, 
with  the  quick  dexterity  of  familiar 
custom,  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  table, 
just  in  time  to  prevent  two  others 
from  reaching  it. 

"  Here's  a  table,"  he  exclaimed. 
The  two  strangers,  discomfited,  turned 
away  with  some  surly  muttering,  but 
the  etiquette  of  the  billiard  saloon  is 
as  the  law  of  the  Medes  and  Persians, 
which  altereth  not :  —  "  First  come 
first  served,"  it  saith,  —  and  they  did 
not  resist.  The  three  friends,  noth- 
ing loath,  took  off  their  coats ;  each 
man  selected  his  cue  from  the  rack  ; 
a  bullet-headed,  short-haired  person 
of  Irish-American  appearance,  brought 
them  the  billiard  balls,  and  they  set 
to  work  at  a  three-handed  game. 

Neither  of  the  three  was  particular- 
ly skilful,  but  as  their  unskilfulness 
was   about  equal  they  matched  very 


Scrope  ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


87 


well ;  and  playing  for  amusement 
only,  they  had  a  very  jolly  time  of  it. 
Scrope's  play  was  reckless,  Bird's  cau- 
tious and  safe,  Adrian's  well  calcu- 
lated and  in  a  certain  sense  scientific 
because  he  always  played  with  a  defi- 
nite purpose  ;  hut  from  lack  of  prac- 
tice his  execution  was  far  below  his 
ideal.  After  a  while  Scrope,  who  had 
been  noticing  Adrian  "  lay  out "  good 
shots  and  then  miss  them,  observed 
upon  it : 

"  Vewy  ably  missed  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
as  Adrian's  cue  ball,  a  little  too  deli- 
cately touched,  stopped  about  two 
inches  short  of  the  deep  red  on  which 
it  should  have  caromed  for  three,  and 
left  a  run  of  thirty  or  forty  on  the  two 
reds  for  Bird :  —  "  Vewy  ably  missed. 
I  never  saw  anybody  make  so  many 
ansome  misses  in  my  life.  An  ole 
boarding-school  of  them." 

"Yes,"  said  Adrian  merrily,  "it's 
because  I  am  too  scientific  and  sacri- 
fice every  thing  to  principle.  I  don't 
envy  you  your  scratches,  either.  'Tis 
better  to  have  aimed  and  missed  than 
never  to  have  aimed  at  all !  And 
here's  our  worldly  friend  Mr.  Bird, 
who  has  been  picking  up  our  crumbs, 
and  is  ahead  of  both  your  luck  and 
my  science,  just  by  practical  sense 
and  industry." 

It  was  quite  true ;  it  is  as  true  in 
billiards  as  in  trade  or  in  politics,  that 
steady  attention  to  business,  hard 
work  and  careful  good  sense  are  the 
best  means  of  accumulation.  In 
many  other  ways  also,  however,  are 
the  moralities  of  this  beautiful  game, 

—  moralities  hitherto  never  developed 

—  illustrative  of  the  affairs  of  life.  A 
niuu's  shots,  for  instance,  show  his 
character.  One  player  is  forever  put- 
ting on  a  twist,  or  making  draw  shots, 
and  counts  in  the  most  unexpected 
manner,  forcing  the  tormented  balls 
in  every  direction  by  cunning  under- 


handed strokes.  Another,  by  sheei 
straight  forward  force,  drives  his  ball 
far  round  the  table,  with  long-sighted 
powerful  combinations.  Another  pre- 
fers "  follow  shots  ;  "  softly  and  deli- 
cately he  coaxes  the  hard  ivory  balls, 
who  quietly  do  what  he  wants,  but 
don't  know  that  they  are  coaxed. 
Another  still,  the  cunningest  of  all,  a 
silent  monopolizer,  gets  a  corner  on 
the  balls.  He  gets  the  two  reds 
"jawed,"  and  stepping  back  and  forth 
round  the  corner  pocket,  counts  and 
counts  to  the  paralysis  and  infuriation 
of  the  helpless  excluded  adversary, 
who  longs  to  whack  him  over  the 
head  with  the  butt  of  his  cue.  And 
the  vicissitudes  of  the  game,  moreover, 
prove  and  exhibit  the  characters  of 
the  players  like  those  of  life. 

However:  —  the  three  young  men 
played  away,  and  after  a  time  Adrian 
missed  one  or  two  easy  shots.  Now, 
men  who  would  bear  a  colossal  misfor- 
tune with  equanimity  may  get  quite 
excited  over  a  game.  And  in  bil- 
liards, there  is  a  very  curious  but  un- 
deniable relation  between  the  players 
state  of  mind  and  his  success.  Virgil 
has  stated  the  point  as  if  he  had  been 
inspired  with  a  motto  on  purpose  for 
this  game : 

"  Possunt  quia  posse  videntur." 

"They  can,  just  because  they  be- 
lieve it."  And  vice  versa  too.  The 
first  miss  was,  you  may  say,  pure  acci- 
dent, but  it  damaged  Adrian's  morale; 
the  second  shot  he  did  not  have  faith 
that  he  would  make,  and  so  he  did 
not  make  it.  "  I  guess  I  sha'n't  count 
any  more,"  he  said,  in  a  sort  of  half 
serious  discouragement. 

"  Take  three  fingers  of  Old  Burbon 
straight,  Ad!"  uttered  a  voice  in  an 
oracular  tone ;  "  that'll  set  you  up 
again,  just  like  a  fly." 

All  three  of  the  players  looked  to 


88 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


see  who  was  the  oracle.  It  was  the 
taller  of  two  young  men  who  had  ap- 
proached without  being  noticed  by 
the  players,  and  who  had  been  look- 
ing on  in  silence  for  a  few  moments. 
The  shorter  was  a  very  dark  com- 
plexioned  young  fellow,  natty  of  cos- 
tume, adorned  with  jewels  of  price, 
and  very  flashy  in  bearing.  The 
other,  who  had  spoken,  was  big  and  fat, 
even  noticeably  so ;  and  —  delicately 
be  it  intimated  —  his  substance  was 
distributed  after  such  a  manner  that 
the  circumference  of  his  waistband 
bore  to  that  of  his  trousers'  leg,  too 
great  a  ratio  for  the  best  sculpturesque 
effect.  '  He  also  was  well  dressed  —  in 
the  pretentious  sense, — being  majestic 
in  fine  black  broadcloth,  a  glossy  new 
hat,  gloves,  a  showy  lavender-colored 
waistcoat,  a  white  under-waistcoat,  a 
speckled  shirt,  a  bright  red  cravat,  a 
diamond  pin,  and  a  slender  cane 
whose  ivory  head  was  carved  in  the 
similitude  of  a  plump  human  leg  bent 
at  tbe  knee.  His  face  was  round  and 
full  and  almost  puffy  :  his  dark  hair 
was  coarse  and  straight ;  his  rather 
thin  mustache  was  elegantly  waxed 
into  two  sticky-looking  little  horizon- 
tal tips,  in  that  fashion  that  always 
suggests  that  they  are  agglutinated 
with  the  remainder-grease  of  the  last 
meal.  His  lips  were  not  very  thick, 
but  had  a  sort  of  over-full  look ;  and 
they  were  slightly  varnished,  and 
their  red  color  thus  brought  out,  by 
the  dewy  moisture  of  a  perceptible 
exudation  of  tobacco-spit.  His  eyes 
were  dark,  rather  small,  but  quick 
enough,  and  the  black  ej'ebrows  were 
rather  thin,  like  the  mustache. 

Before  Adrian  had  time  to  speak, 
this  splendid  youth  resumed,  with  a 
jovial  haw-haw  which  exhibited  a 
row  of  tobacco-stained  teeth  that 
otherwise  would  have  been  white 
and  regular  enough  — 


"  Why,  by  —  Ad,  you  d — d  rascal, 
what  the"  — but  really,  the  oaths  must 
be  omitted,  although  it  cuts  "  a  mon- 
strous cantle  out "  of  the  speaker's 
observations,  and  deprives  us  of  some- 
thing like  half  the  utterances  of  his 
great  mind,  leaving  them  insipid,  like 
a  dish  of  eggs  with  tbe  yolks  all 
picked  out.  But,  as  the  showman 
says  in  the  burlesque,  "  the  Public 
Heye  must  and  shall  be  regarded ;  " 
in  one  sentence  parenthesized  blanks 
may  indicate  the  habitual  proportion 
of  this  speaker's  appeals  to  his  Maker, 
and  afterwards  —  as  Lord  Timothy 
Dexter  said  about  the  stops  in  his  style 
of  composition,  people  must  "pepper 
and  solt  it  to  suit  themselves." 

"Why  (  )"  said  the  big  fat 
young  man,  "  Ad,  you  (  )  rascal, 
what  the  (  )  are  you  doing  here, 
(  )  you  ?  Is  Saul  also  among  the 
prophets  ?  " 

''  How  do  you  do,  Cousin  William." 
said  Adrian,  good  humoredly,  and  it 
must  be  confessed  not  without  some 
little  feeling  that  he  was  out  of  place. 
But  where  can  you  play  billiards  in 
New  York  —  on  a  decent  public 
table  —  without  having  rum,  tobacco, 
gambling,  profanity  and  vulgarity  in 
the  room  ?  —  "  How  do  you  do  ?  — 
More  like  a  prophet  among  the  Sauls, 
I  guess,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  the 
other,  with  so  voluble  an  effusion  of 
glee,  and  with  eyes  so  swimming  and 
such  a  swaying  of  his  heavy  figure, 
that  Adrian  instantly  perceived  tbat 
he  was  at  least  half  tipsy ;  but  even 
while  he  laughed,  he  administered  a 
mighty  slap  between  Adrian's  shoul- 
ders, and  then  taking  his  cue  out  of 
his  hand,  gave  three  resounding  bangs 
upon  the  floor.  A  boy  hurried  up,  in 
obedience  to  the  well-known  billiard- 
room  summons;  and  the  summoner 
continued, 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


89 


"  What's  yours,  gentlemen  ?  "  — 
looking  to  Bird  and  Scrope  —  "  Intro- 
duce me,  Adrian,"  lie  interrupted ; 
"  can't  drink  with  an  entire  stranger 
—  against  my  principles." 

"Mr.  Scrope,"  said  Adrian,  thus 
appealed  to,  and  making  a  considera- 
ble effort  to  seem  proud  and  happy ; 
"  My  cousin  Mr.  William  Button. 
Yours  too :  I  suppose  you  missed 
finding  him  at  home.  Mr.  Bird,  a 
member  of  the  press ; "  and  so  on. 
Then  Mr.  Button  in  his  turn  intro- 
duced his  short  and  swarthy  compan- 
ion to  them  all  as  Mr.  Oppenheimer ; 
and  therewith  he  vouched  for  him 
amidst  a  perfect  storm  of  oaths,  as 
"the  sharpest  sport  in  this  city  — 
can't  beat  me  though  —  hay,  Op  ?  " 
And  the  whole  bowed  and  shook 
hands  all  round  and  round.  They 
all  attempted  to  decline  drinking,  but 
young  Button  began  to  be  vociferous  ; 
enlarging  with  much  vigor  on  the 
happy  occasion  of  his  meeting  a  new 
cousin,  as  one  most  proper  for  hospi- 
tality;  the  players  at  the  adjoining 
tables  began  to  look  with  obvious 
displeasure  at  the  big  noisy  fellow 
who  was  disturbing  their  game,  and 
Bird,  touching  Adrian's  elbow,  nod- 
ded, as  much  as  to  say,  "We  had 
better  do  it,"  and  they  all  consented, 
and  jointly  remitted  to  the  entertainer 
the  choice  of  liquors. 

"Five  Old  Burbon  straight,"  said 
Mr;  '  Button,  —  but  Oppenheimer, 
amending,  ordered  for  himself  a  "  soda 
cocktail  "  instead,  saying  "  You  know, 
Bill,  my  head  ain't  so  strong  as  yours. 
I  can't  carry  any  more." 

The  liquors  came  and  were  drank, 
and  Adrian,  though  like  most  persons 
of  clean  descent  and  pure  health  he 
unfeignedly  abhorred  the  abominable 
rank  sharp  scalding-hot  flavor  of  the 
whiskej7,  which  he  swigged  down 
pure  in  obedience  to  the  exhortation 


of  his  cousin,  found  to  his  surprise 
that  the  sort  of  stir  it  produced 
through  every  fibre  of  his  frame, 
although  he  felt  in  his  brain  the  be- 
ginning of  something  like  a  loosening 
of  his  usual  clear  perfect  command  of 
all  his  wits,  somewhat  as  if  a  thin  hot 
mist  or  cloud  was  just  beginning  to 
gather  among  them,  yet  did  really 
appear  to  have  re-enforced  his  bil- 
liard faculties,  whatever  those  are,  in 
some  way  ;  for  he  proceeded  to  make 
some  unusually  good  runs,  and  in 
fact  came  out  first,  Mr.  Bird's  econo- 
my carrying  him  through  a  good  sec- 
ond, while  Scrope  had  the  game  to  pay 
for. 

Very  likely,  according  to  that  wise 
ordinance  of  our  Maker  under  which 
the  more  we  lose  the  more  we  want 
to  keep  on  and  get  it  back,  Scrope 
would  have  insisted  on  another  game  ; 
but  he  was  really  good-natured  ;  and, 
as  soon  as  Bird  had  completed  his 
hundred,  Mr.  Button,  not  being  quite 
clear  in  his  intellectuals,  and  not 
having  the  most  correct  instincts  in 
the  world  to  make  up  for  his  lack  of 
good  training,  called  out, 

"  There  you  go,  Mister  Scrope.  All 
gone  up  in  a  kite  !  Now  see  me  wipe 
out  Brother  Oppenheimer.  Come, 
Op  !  " 

And  he  pulled  off  his  coat  and 
proceeded  to  pick  out  a  cue.  The 
"sport,"  sharper  as  he  was,  looked 
rather  confused  at  the  invitation, 
but  the  others,  laughing,  acquiesced, 
and  sat  down  to  look  on.  The  game 
which  now  followed  puzzled  Adrian 
for  a  time.  Button,  though  at  least 
half  drunk,  played  a  very  fair  name 
indeed.  As  for  Oppenheimer,  Adrian 
observed  at  once  how  perfectly  cool 
and  clear-headed  he  was ;  then  he 
noticed  the  extreme  neatness  of  his 
style  of  play.  He  used  exactly  the 
force  required,  and  no  more  ;  the  cue 


90 


Scrope  ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


ball,  like  a  trusty  middle-aged  ser- 
vant with  errands,  trundled  delib- 
erately off,  called  at  a  cushion  or 
left  the  duplicate  message  of  a  carom, 
and  moved  just  a  few  steps  further 
to  a  place  convenient  for  setting  out 
on  the  next  errand.  It  was  an  in- 
structive exhibition  to  Adrian  of 
that  judicious  play  which  always 
considers  the  next  shot.  But  at  the 
same  time  he  was  struck  by  the  easy 
shots  which  Oppenheimer  missed ; 
once  a  plain  short  carom ;  once  a 
fair  shot  round  the  table  ;  and  Adrian 
was  sure  that  as  the  "sport"  made 
these  misses,  he  as  it  were  relaxed 
muscles  and  attention  together, — 
striking,  one  might  say,  with  his  eyes 
shut.  Whenever  he  had  done  so, 
he  muttered  some  short  exclamation 
of  disgust,  or  gave  a  vexed  sort  of 
whirl  round  on  his  heels;  while  Mr. 
Button  exulted  over  him  with  effu- 
sive, self-exalting  and  half-tipsy  glee. 
Adrian  cautiously  intimated  to  Mr. 
Bird  something  of  these  observa- 
tions. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  that  gentleman,  in 
his  quiet  intelligent  way  ;  "  that  Op- 
penheimer is  just  playing  him  off. 
I  know  him.  He  sleeps  on  a  billiard 
table  every  night, —  unless  sometimes 
it's  a  faro  table  for  a  change.  He  can 
give  points  to  either  of  th6se  cham- 
pions we  saw  over  there.  He's  a  first 
class  billiard  sharp.  You  may  play 
with  him  if  you  want  to,  and  j'ou'll 
win  any  small  bets,  if  he  thinks  he 
can  coax  you  into  a  large  one.  But 
don't  bet  a  cent  more  than  you  are 
willing  to  lose." 

"  I  never  risked  a  cent  on  chances 
yet  in  my  life,"  said  Adrian,  quietly, 
"  and  I  don't  want  to.  He'll  never 
make  any  thing  out  of  me." 

"  You're  a  lucky  man,"  said  Bird 
with  a  smile. 

As  the  game  proceeded,  Adrian  no- 


ticed over  and  over  the  same  set  of 
phenomena  he  had  thus  observed,  and 
every  time  he  saw  the  contrast  of  fine 
play  and  intentional  failure,  he  won- 
dered more  that  Button  did  not  see  it. 
But  conceit  and  tippling  together  are 
a  very  thick  cloud,  and  the  big  foolish 
youth  was  fully  convinced  that  it  was 
his  own  skill  that  kept  him  just  be- 
hind or  just  in  the  lead  of  his  cool 
and  steady  opponent.  Towards  the 
close,  Button  grew  more  and  more 
noisy,  laughing  and  bawling  out  slang 
observations  with  every  shot  whether 
he  counted  or  not.  At  last  there  re- 
mained as  it  happened  only  one  sin- 
gle point  for  Mr.  Button  to  make, 
while  Oppenheimer  had  let  himself 
fall  behind  twenty-five  points;  and 
the  uproar  of  the  triumphant  But- 
ton was  becoming  tremendous.  The 
balls  were  left,  moreover,  in  one  of 
those  technically  troublesome  positions 
which  look  so  desperate  to  an  ordina- 
ry player,  the  cue  ball  being  "  frozen  " 
to  one  of  the  others,  while  the  rest 
were  behind  that  one  and  close  to- 
gether, so  that  all  four  lay  in  a  short 
straight  row.  Of  course,  Oppenhei- 
mer could  not  count  if  he  moved  the 
ball  which  the  cue  ball  touched;  and 
for  a  moment  he  seemed  to  study  the 
position  with  some  little  care.  As  for 
Button,  he  exulted.  Bending  over 
the  balls,  and  shading  them  with  his 
hand  so  as  to  keep  off  the  reflections 
of  the  gas-light,  he  peered  intently 
at  the  focus  of  interest,  where  the 
"  spot  ball  "  —  which  was  Oppenhei- 
mer's —  lay  just  touching  the  deep 
red.  "Frozen,  by "  he  ex- 
claimed at  last.  "  Tight  as  Green- 
land. Doctor  Kane  himself  couldn't 
get  out  of  it.  Now  count,  Oppy ! 
Gentlemen,  see  Oppy  count  now  !  " 

"  You've  got  me,  William,  that's  a 
fact,"  remarked  Mr.  Oppenheimer, 
with   a   discouraged   air.      "No   use 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


91 


playing  against  you  and  luck  togeth- 
er. However,  I'll  play  away  from  the 
other  balls,  at  any  rate."  So  saying, 
he  stepped  around  to  the  further  side 
from  his  cue  ball,  and  quickly  and 
almost  carelessly  placed  his  left  hand 
as  a  "  bridge,"  in  the  high  way  neces- 
sary for  playing  over  other  balls ; 
touching  the  table  with  three  fingers 
only,  instead  of  with  the  lower  rim  of 
the  palm  also,  and  Adrian,  watching 
closely,  noticed  not  only  the  delicate 
moulding  of  his  projecting  thumb, 
and  the  almond  shape  of  his  clean 
pink  nails,  but  the  coquettish  perk  of 
his  little  finger  sticking  out  as  a  fan- 
ciful lady's  does  when  she  lifts  a  tea- 
cup to  her  lips,  and  the  sparkle  of  a 
small  bright  diamond  in  a  plain  gold 
ring  on  the  same  little  finger.  In  a 
moment,  almost  as  it  seemed  without 
looking  at  the  balls,  the  "  sport"  ad- 
ministered a  delicate  little  dig  to  the 
cue-ball ;  a  short  stroke,  directed  from 
above  downward  almost  upon  the  very 
top  of  the  ball,  and  that  did  not  seem 
to  follow  the  ball  an  inch.  Button, 
watching  his  closest  to  see  that  the 
"  frozen  "  ball  did  not  move,  was  baf- 
fled, but  said,  "  No  harm,  I  guess." 

But  there  was  harm.  The  spot 
ball  had  received  one  of  those  myste- 
rious "  twists  "  somewhat  such  as  are 
given  in  what  are  called  "mace  "  shots, 
which  seem  to  inform  the  white  ivory 
with  the  knowledge  of  a  complete 
campaign.  Slowly,  as  if  reluctantly, 
but  almost  whizzing  on  its  own  perpen- 
dicular axis,  the  spot  ball  crept  a  few 
inches  to  the  cushion  —  then  leaped 
suddenly  away  as  if  it  was  there  that 
its  errand  was  given  it,  but  at  an  un- 
expectedly wide  angle  across  a  corner, 
then  taking  a  second  cushion,  re- 
bounded accurately  upon  the  two  balls 
that  had  been  so  snugly  sheltered  be- 
hind the  deep  red  one ;  and  Oppen- 
heimer  had  counted  two. 


"  I  declare  ! "  exclaimed  Adrian, 
softly,  but  in  great  admiration,  —  and 
watching  the  "  sport,"  who  stood  near 
him,  he  saw,  to  his  surprise,  a 
swift  subtle  smile  that  just  glim- 
mered as  it  were  for  an  instant  upon 
his  dark  face,  and  was  instantly 
repressed.  Oppenheimer  had  counted 
on  purpose.  As  for  Button,  his 
oaths  would  have  terrified  a  cus- 
tom-house. 

"  What  for  did  you  want  to  scratch 
exactly  then,  I  want  to  know  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"I  didn't  want  to  scratch,  Bill," 
said  Oppenheimer,  with  a  neat  double 
meaning  —  "you  can't  always  make 
the  balls  do  what  you  expect,  you 
know !  "  —  And  he  played  on. 

"Two,  five,  eight,  ten,"  enumerated 
Adrian  to  himself,  as  the  sport  count- 
ed and  counted  towards  his  twenty- 
five,  playing  always  with  the  same 
swift  apparently  careless  precision  — 
and  so  on  up  ;  —  "  twenty  —  twenty- 
two  —  twenty-four  —  twenty-No  !  A 
miss,  upon  my  word !  " 

"  Sold  again  —  and  I've  got  the 
money,"  bawled  Button  quite  beside 
himself,  for  a  miss  counts  one  for  the 
opposite  party,  and  Oppenheimer  had 
thus  beaten  himself ;  and  Button 
gave  three  such  bangs  on  the  floor 
with  the  butt  of  his  cue  as  if  he  had 
meant  to  plant  it  in  the  hard  Carolina 
pine,  as  the  old  Saxon  bishop  Wul- 
stan  of  Worcester  planted  his  crosier 
in  the  marble  of  Saint  Edward  the 
Confessor's  tomb,  rather  than  yield  it 
to  the  Norman  primate  Lanfranc. 

"Five  more  Burbon  !  "  he  vocifer- 
ated, as  the  boy  ran  up  for  the  order. 
Everybody  refused  however.  But 
Button,  whose  views  on  the  subject  of 
"treating"  were  to  the  full  those  of 
the  foolish,  vulgar,  rich,  rowdy,  young 
American  —  and  that  drunk  —  almost 
foamed  at  the  mouth  at  such  a  recep- 


92 


Scrope;   or.  The  Lost  Library. 


tion  of  his  hospitality,  and  swore  by  a 
great  many  more  things  than  there 
are  in  the  universe  that  if  they 
wouldn't  drink  with  him  in  honor  of 
this  victory,  he'd  drink  all  five  glasses 
himself.  He  was  the  more  obstinate, 
as  he  grew  more  excited ;  and  they 
were  fain  to  yield  once  more  at  least 
in  form,  even  Oppenheimer  not  insist- 
ing on  his  harmless  alkaline  beverage. 

The  five  drinks  came,  each  flanked 
with  its  attendant  tumbler  of  ice  and 
water  for  mixing;  every  man  took 
his  glass  ;  Adrian  prepared  to  endure 
another  half  hour  of  uncomfortable 
stir  within  him  and  of  unclean  flavor 
in  his  mouth. 

Mr.  Button  lifted  his  glass  with  an 
air  of  triumph  ;  "  Gentlemen,"  he  said, 
"  I  give  you  on  this  occasion  "  — 

The  glass  dropped  on  the  floor  and 
smashed  into  bits  among  the  slop  of 
whiskey.  The  young  man's  tongue 
failed  him  at  the  same  moment  with 
his  fingers;  so  did  ah1  his  muscles  at 
once,  and  instantaneously  he  toppled 
over  against  the  billiard  table  and  then 
upon  the  floor.  Adrian  and  Oppen- 
heimer, who  were  nearest,  instantly 
seized  him  by  the  shoulders  to  lift 
him  up.  Adrian  saw  that  his  face  was 
very  red  ;  his  eyes  were  shut,  a  little 
thick  foam  discolored  with  the  juice 
of  the  tobacco  that  was  visibly  lodged 
in  one  cheek  to  make  room  for  swig- 
ging and  speaking,  was  working  out 
from  between  his  lips.  The  lips  and 
the  whole  face  were  thrilling  and 
working  as  if  with  shocks  of  nervous 
pain ;  the  same  thrills  vibrated 
through  the  arm  and  back  under  both 
of  Adrian's  hands,  and  seemed  to  pass 
out  through  the  helpless  fingers,  which 
clutched  and  wavered. 

"Put  him  in  a  chair  here  by  the 
window,"  said  Oppenheimer,  and  they 
did  so.  Then  he  quickly  opened  the 
window,  and  the  cold  air  of  the  win- 


try night  fell  in  upon  them  like  a 
block  of  ice,  so  solid  and  -pure  and 
cold  was  it,  as  it  broke  into  the  heat- 
ed and  gas-lit  and  perceptibly  smoke 
and  drink-flavored  atmosphere  of  the 
room. 

Adrian  had  never  been  so  close  to 
such  a  sight ;  "  What  a  horror  it  is  !  " 
he  was  saying  to  himself,  thinking 
of  drunkenness,  when  Oppenheimer, 
taking  up  one  of  the  glasses  of  ice- 
water,  poured  some  into  his  right  hand 
and  slopped  it  upon  Button's  fore- 
head. It  trickled  all  over  his  face 
and  down  upon  his  shirt-front.  Xo- 
body  paid  much  attention  ;  a  drunken 
man  in  a  billiard  saloon  is  not  a  black 
swan,  nor  a  black  sheep  either,  for 
that  matter. 

"  He'll  come  out  of  it  in  a  few  min- 
utes," said  the  gambler. 

Bird  was  looking  on  in  his  quiet 
attentive  way  :  "  It 's  a  fit,  isn't  it !  " 
he  said  coolly,  not  questioning,  but 
asserting  with  slight  surprise ;  then, 
to  the  gambler,  —  "  Has  he  had  many 
of  them  ?  " 

"  Xo  —  not  more  than  half-a-dozen," 
said  the  other,  —  "  Tisn't  much  more 
than  a  dizziness." 

"  Just  hold  those  bits  of  ice  on  his 
forehead,"  suggested  Bird.  The  gam- 
bler did  so;  and  sure  enough,  in  a 
moment  or  two  Button's  face  and 
whole  frame  became  quiet;  beseemed 
to  go  into  a  sleep,  breathing  softly 
and  regularly ;  the  dark  flush  began 
to  pass  from  his  face  ;  and  in  perhaps 
five  minutes  he  opened  his  eyes  in  a 
sleepy  sort  of  way  and  looked  round 
as  if  puzzled  to  know  how  he  came 
there. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked  —  "  Guess 
I  had  another  little  spasm,  didn't  I  ?  '' 

"  Yes  ;  but  you're  all  right  now," 
said  Oppenheimer,  and  he  closed  the 
window.  Button  sat  still  a  few 
moments,  with  a  dazed  sort  of   look, 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


somewhat  like  one  awaked  before  he 
lias  slept  enough.  The  rest  chatted 
about  indifferent  matters  for  a  few 
minutes ;  and  then  the  big  youth, 
with  an  effort,  laid  his  hands  on  the 
arms  of  his  chair  and  hoisted  him- 
self up,  saying, 

"  Come  ;  let's  trot  out." 

"  Best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  get  a 
good  long  sleep,  Bill,"  said  Oppen- 
heimer,  very  sensibly.  But  that,  as 
it  would  appear,  was  no  part  of  Mr. 
Button's  plan.  He  u  scorned  delights, 
and  lived  laborious  days  "  and  nights 
too ;  with  a  double-Milton  power 
of  labor,  for  the  time  being;  though 
what  would  have  been  an  intolera- 
ble slavery  to  the  pure  and  lofty 
old  poet  and  scholar,  Mr.  William 
Button  believed  to  be  the  strenuous 
pursuit  of  manly  pleasures  befit- 
ting a  free  and  independent  Ameri- 
can citizen.  Nor  can  anybody,  even 
though  as  heavy,  not  to  say  strong, 
as  Mr.  Button,  over-draw  on  his  vi- 
tal revenues,  without  finding  sooner 
or  later  that  when  the  current  divi- 
dends are  exhausted,  his  checks  have 
been  honored  out  of  his  capital. 
He  usually  finds  it  out  sooner  rather 
than  later,  and  always  too  soon.  It 
was  not  yet  too  late  for  the  foolish 
Mr.  William  Button,  if  he  had  only 
known  it ;  but  it  was  pretty  nearly 
too  late. 

"  Sleep  — !  "  was  the  irritated  reply  ; 
though  the  future  state  (or  place)  to 
which  the  speaker  relegated  the  idea 
of  repose  was  precisely  that  where 
it  is  commonly  least  believed  to  exist. 
Oppenheimer  looked  a  little  surprised. 
"  Just  as  you  like,"  he  said  how- 
ever, with  a  kind  of  indifferent  ac- 
quiescence, such  as  one  uses  with 
a  feeble  or  sick  person  who  is  quer- 
ulous about  trifles ;  "just  as  you 
like,  about  sleeping  there  or  going 
there ;  it's  all  one  to  me  !  " 


"Well, — let's  go  up  stairs,  Opp ; 
Ad's  a  stranger ;  want  to  show  him 
the  elephant." 

The  gambler  gave  a  swift  suspi- 
cious look,  not  at  Button,  but  at  the 
three  others.  Scrope  answered,  this 
time. 

"  I  guess  e  means  the  tiger,  wather 
than  the  h elephant,  don't  e  ?  Weckon 
we've  all  visited  the  animal  ?  —  and  he 
looked  inquiringly  at  Bird  and  Adri- 
an. The  police  reporter  only  smiled 
and  nodded ;  Adrian  said  he  believed 
he  knew  what  the  beast  was,  but  had 
never  seen  him.  Button  at  once 
insisted  on  going,  and  was  quite  ner- 
vous and  fussy  about  it. 

"  Well,  come  on,"  said  Oppenhei- 
mer, adding,  "Never  saw  you  so. 
fretful  before,  William  —  what's  the- 
matter  with  you  lately?"  If  Mr. 
Oppenheimer  had  been  familiar  with 
epilepsy,  he  would  have  recognized 
this  fretfulness  as  a  common  symp- 
tom ;  but  neither  he  nor  young  But- 
ton himself  knew  this ;  indeed,  the 
attack  he  had  just  had  was  his  first 
clearly  pronounced  one.  The  disease 
was  just  taking  a  good  hold  ;  or  rather 
was  just  showing  the  good  hold  it  had 
already  taken  ; — for  the  degeneracy 
of  brain  and  nerve  tissue  which  seems 
to  be  the  proximate  vehicle  of  epilep- 
sy works  a  good  while  in  secret,  like 
an  engineer  approaching  by  mines 
and  getting  a  good  many  of  them 
placed  and  loaded  before  any  ex- 
plode. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  party,  now  consisting  of  five, 
came  out  from  the  house  that  Jack 
kept,  and  stepping  round  to  the  same 
recess  in  which  was  the  outer  en- 
trance to  Hope  Chapel,  Oppenheimer 
entered  one  of  the  side  doors,  led  the 
way  up  two  flights  of  stairs,  and  ush- 


94 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


ered  the  rest  into  a  niiddle-sized  room, 
fronting  on  Broadway.  Here  they 
found  a  dozen  persons,  gathered  round 
a  table  about  the  size  of  a  common 
dining  table  for  six,  and  which  was 
covered  with  green  cloth.  On  a  plat- 
form a  few  inches  high  occupying 
most  of  its  surface,  was  displayed  an 
array  of  playing  cards,  faces  upper- 
most. On  or  among  these  there  lay 
here  and  there  little  piles  of  ivory 
disks  an  inch  or  more  in  diameter, 
some  white,  some  red.  Back  of  the 
table  sat  a  tall  and  sedate  looking 
personage,  who  solemnly  drew  out 
other  cards  from  a  neat  little  German 
silver  case  at  his  right  hand.  At 
every  third  card,  as  he  turned  it  and 
showed  it,  there  was  some  little  stir 
among  the  company :  one  shifted  one 
of  the  little  piles  of  ivory  disks  from 
one  card  or  interval  to  another ;  an- 
other placed  more  disks  on  his  pile  ; 
another  drew  some  of  them  to  him- 
self; or  the  presiding  genius  took 
some  of  them  ;  and  a  watchful  person 
with  a  little  frame  something  like 
what  they  call  or  used  to  call  in  pri- 
mary schools  an  arithmeticon,  moved 
backward  and  forward  small  pips 
strung  on  wires. 

Adrian,  who  had  read  divers  ac- 
counts of  the  splendid  fittings  of 
gambling  establishments,  of  their 
noble  hospitalities,  such  as  game  sup- 
pers, champagne  and  the  like,  felt 
rather  cheated ;  however,  he  quietly 
asked  Bird  if  this  was  a  faro  table. 
Bird  said  it  was. 

The  five  stood  watching  for  a  few 
moments.  Then  young  Button,  tak- 
ing a  seat  at  the  table,  began  to  ma- 
nipulate disks,  which  he  seemed  to 
purchase  of  the  president.  Mr.  Bird 
with  much  gravity  drew  forth  in  his 
turn  a  bank  note  and  deposited  it 
upon  the  little  platform  among  the 
cards.     The  president  —  if  that  was 


his  title  —  in  a  moment  or  two  with 
perhaps  even  more  gravity  put  forth 
his  hand  and  took  the  same  into  his 
own  possession.  Indeed,  the  card 
part  is  almost  superfluous  in  this 
transparent  and  equitable  diversion, 
which  could  be  made  still  simpler  and 
of  course  more  beautiful  if  reduced 
to  the  plain  and  brief  transaction  of 
handing  successive  five  dollar  bills 
across  a  table  by  one  person,  to  be 
received  by  another,  who  should  place 
them  in  his  trousers'  pocket.  This 
would  save  time,  and  also  the  whole 
expense  of  "  lay-out,'"  dealing-box,  and 
checks ;  and  ivory  in  particular,  as  T 
the  best  authorities  both  on  natural 
history  and  on  commerce  inform  us, 
grows  scarcer  and  more  costly  every 
day. 

"  Is  that  all  there  is  to  it  ?  "  whis- 
pered Adrian  to  Bird. 

"  Pretty  much,"  was  the  reply,  — 
"  once  in  a  while  the  money  comes 
back  the  other  way." 

"  I  don't  see  much  fun  in  it,"  re- 
joined Adrian. 

"  Ever  play,  sir  ?  "  joined  in  Oppen- 
heiiner  suddenly,  apparently  having 
overheard. 

"  Xo,"  said  Adrian  ;  "  never  did 
such  a  thing  in  my  life." 

"  Didn't  ?  "  said  Oppenheimer  with 
obvious  eagerness.  "  Well,  try  your 
luck.     Come  on." 

"Why,"  said  Adrian,  civilly,  "I 
don't  care  the  least  about  it ;  —  be- 
sides, I  can't  afford  it.  I'm  as  poor 
as  a  rat." 

"  Never  mind  that,"  said  the  gam- 
bler. '■'  Here  "  —  and  he  pulled  some 
notes  out  of  his  pocket — "Give  me 
great  pleasure  to  furnish  you  twenty 
dollars  to  begin  with  —  Well  go  in 
cahoot  :  —  fifty  if  you  want." 

But  Adrian's  healthy  nature  was 
clean  physically  and  morally  "  by  six- 
teen descents  "  —  and  more  too ;  for  he 


Scrojye;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


95 


was  of  almost  uniningled  blood,  of 
the  ancient  English  Puritan  type. 
lie  was  as  ready  for  fun  as  anybody ; 
and  he  was  eager  to  see,  and  for  in- 
crease of  knowledge  was  willing  to 
undergo  even  the  stink  of  tobacco  and 
the  almost  equally  foul  fumes  of  li- 
quor and  dirtiness.  But  it  was  only 
the  wish  to  know  that  impelled  him ; 
the  instinct  of  an  active  mind,  inquir- 
ing after  all  truth,  and  analyzing 
sewerage,  if  necessary,  to  get  at  the 
portion  of  truth  which  may  be  pecu- 
liar to  sewerage ;  not  the  instinct  of 
the  hog,  which  will  eat  it  and  wallow 
in  it.  He  did  feel  an  impulse,  not  to 
accept  the  unaccountable  offer  of  Mr. 
Oppenheimer,  but  to  take  some  of  his 
own  money  and  play  it  away  if  only 
to  ascertain  for  himself  what  the  sen- 
sation was  —  if  there  was  any  sensa- 
tion. But  he  was  strongly  dissuaded 
by  the  repulsive  something  which 
quietly  but  steadily  impressed  him,  as 
a  subtle  evil  quality  in  an  infected  air 
comes  to  weigh  upon  one's  senses. 
He  could  not  see  that  either  Scrope, 
who  had  been  betting  a  little,  Button, 
who  was  playing  away  in  an  eager 
manner,  or  Bird,  who  after  losing  his 
five  dollars  had  looked  on  with  his 
usual  quiet  air,  felt  any  thing  of  this 
repulsion.  The  furniture  and  fittings 
of  the  room  were  meagre  and  soiled. 
Perhaps  the  foot-worn  old  Brussels 
carpet,  the  faded  grease-spotted  wall- 
paper with  its  awkward  bunchy  pink 
roses,  the  frowsy  old  maroon  colored 
window-curtains,  may  have  helped  this 
feeling.  But  most  of  it  was  from  the 
vulgar  and  evil  bearing  and  atmos- 
phere of  the  familiars  of  the  place. 
There  was  no  princely  personage ;  no 
haughty  young  aristocrat;  not  even  a 
solid  banker,  infuriated  with  a  species 
of  excitement  even  more  hot  and  hell- 
ish than  stock-gambling.  Not  even 
the  likeness  of  Mr.  Bret  Harte's  self- 


sacrificing  scoundrel  of  an  Oakburst 
could  Adrian  discern.  All  the  faces 
were  not  only  hard  and  greedy  and 
unfeeling. and  also  violent  and  lower- 
ing in  expression,  but  of  a  small, 
mean,  vulgar  type ;  so  that  Adrian 
remembered  what  he  had  read  some- 
where of  some  criminal  class  or  popu- 
lation, that  they  would  cut  anybody's 
throat  to  get  an  old  pair  of  trousers. 

And  he  steadily  declined  the  press- 
ing and  not  particularly  elegant  offi- 
ciousness  of  Mr.  Oppenheimer.  This 
gentleman's  insinuating  smile,  after 
a  few  minutes,  suddenly  deserted 
him,  and-  he  darted  a  very  ugly  look 
at  Adrian,  muttering  something  about 
"  beats,"  and  then  looking  across  at 
the  president  of  the  bank,  he  made 
some  sign  or  other. 

There  was  an  immediate  stir  among 
the  company,  who  arose  as  with  one 
consent,  president  and  all,  leaving 
Button  alone  at  the  table.  Several 
very  elaborate  oaths  were  sworn, 
which  somehow  seemed  to  Adrian  not 
improper,  but,  like  weeds  on  a  dung- 
hill, simply  the  natural  product  of 
the  place.  Three  or  four  of  the  men 
stepped  to  the  door  and  stood  there 
as  if  to  prevent  exit ;  the  others,  turn- 
ing, and  with  murmurs  more  or  less 
indistinct,  bent  scowling  countenances 
upon  the  visitors.  The  chief  or  deal- 
er, nearly  opposite  to  whom,  a  little 
to  the  left,  Adrian  had  been  standing, 
was  stepping  around  that  end  of  the 
table,  apparently  with  some  vengeful 
intent.  Adrian,  startled  and  uncom- 
fortable, watching  all  this  movement, 
heard  the  dealer  say  something  about 
"  playing  any  d — d  games  on  a  party 
of  gentlemen  about  their  private  busi- 
ness." As  he  uttered  these  words  in 
a  most  growling  and  inauspicious 
manner,  he  was  moving  close  past 
Bird,  who  stood  at  Adrian's  left. 
Adrian  heard  his  companion  say  in  a 


96 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


low  tone  something  of  which  he  only- 
caught  the  words  —  "  On  the  square 
—  quit  it,  Jimmy  "  —  and  he  made 
some  very  quick  gesture  or  other,  as  if 
to  button  his  coat  or  reach  after  some 
weapon  or  other  article  in  or  under 
the  breast  of  the  same.  Whatever  it 
was  that  was  done  or  said,  its  opera- 
tion upon  the  indignation  of  the  deal- 
er was  as  instantaneous  as  the  touch 
of  oil  to  water  in  which  a  bit  of  cam- 
phor is  travelling.  In  an  instant, 
the  fellow  was  perfectly  motionless. 
Then  he  turned,  and  saying  "Beg 
pardon  —  all  right,  gentlemen,"  re- 
sumed his  place,  and  the  whole  trouble, 
whatever  it  was,  fell  instantly  to  the 
previous  dead  calm. 

Mr.  Bird,  now  looking  at  his  watch, 
said  aloud,  "  Well,  boys,  I  must  go ;  — 
will  you  come  ?  " 

Adrian  assented ;  so  did  Scrope ; 
as  for  Button,  he  swore  he  wouldn't 
until  he'd  got  that  last  twenty-five 
dollars  back.  Bird  looked  at  the 
dealer —  at  least  Adrian  thought  so  — 
At  any  rate  that  worthy  promptly 
laid  clown  the  cards  he  had  taken *up, 
and  said  in  a  ver}r  peremptory  tone, 

"  Bank's  closed,  gentlemen." 

Button  still  grumbled ;  but  the 
dealer  coolly  seized  the  pile  of  white 
checks  before  the  young  gentleman, 
gave  him  some  bank-notes,  which  he 
counted  out  as  if  constituting  an  un- 
derstood equivalent,  and  without  pay- 
ing the  least  attention  to  his  irritated 
reclamations,  arose  and  turned  off  the 
gas  from  the  large  burners  which  illu- 
minated the  faro  table,  leaving  it  in 
the  comparatively  dim  light  of  the  rest 
of  the  room.  Again  there  was  a  gen- 
eral movement ;  but  this  time  only  of 
dispersion ;  and  Bird,  Scrope,  Adrian 
and  Button  went  down  stairs,  Mr. 
Oppenheimer  remaining.  Adrian  had 
politely  testified  to  the  last  gentle- 
man, his  obligations  for  guidance  as 


well  as  for  proffered  financial  aid,  hut 
the  gambler  was  quite  curt  and  un- 
genial  in  his  reply. 

From  the  outer  door  they  all  went 
together  up  Broadway  to  Union 
Square.  Button,  after  divers  mur- 
murs and  complaints,  admitted  that 
he  was  tired  out.  Indeed,  they  were 
all  pretty  tired,  and  Adrian  not  the 
least  so ;  for  he  had  been  on  his  feet 
since  early  in  the  morning ;  and 
travelling  in  the  iron-bound  streets  of 
New  York  is  peculiarly  exhausting  to 
those  unaccustomed  to  the  unyielding 
footing  of  the  stone. 

As  they  went,  Adrian,  questioning 
with  interest  about  the  scene  they 
had  left,  found  that  it  was  one  of 
those  minor  haunts  of  gamblers  which 
the  police  call  a  "  skin  game  ;  "  i.e., 
where  the  object  is  to  (metaphorically) 
skin  the  visitors ;  that  the  company 
they  had  found  there  were  "ropers- 
in  "  or  "  cappers,"  to  wit  mere  de- 
coys. 

"The  fact  is,"  said  Bird,  "if  it 
hadn't  been  that  Jimmy  Dexter  the 
dealer  knew  I  was  in  with  the  police 
authorities,  they  might  have  made  it 
a  little  awkward  for  you.  They  get 
mad  very  easily,  if  they  see  any  rea- 
son for  it.  Your  refusing  to  play 
vexed  friend  Oppenheimer." 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  said  Adrian  ; 
"  and  what  on  earth  made  him  offer 


heard  of  such  a 


me  money  f     1 
thing." 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  "  said  Bird, 
"  Many  gamblers  believe  a  man  is 
sure  to  win  the  first  time  he  plays. 
He  was  going  in  cahoot,  you  know  — 
to  have  half  the  winnings ;  and  he 
looks  on  it  that  you  have  kept  him  out 
of  so  much  money." 

At  Fourteenth  Street  they  parted, 
all  four  going  different  ways  ;  Button 
on  a  Fourth  Avenue  car,  Scrope  on  a 
Broadway  car,   Bird  on  a  down  town 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


97 


car  —  having,  he  said,  to  go  to  one  of 
the  newspaper  offices,  late  as  it  was  ; 
while  Adrian  though  weary,  preferred 
to  walk  at  least  part  of  the  way  to  his 
quarters,  for  the  sake  of  refreshing 
himself  with  a  little  out-door  air  after 
his  triple  seething  in  the  hot  close 
filth  of  concert-saloon,  billiard-roorn 
and  gambling-hole. 

As  he  went,  he  meditated,  the 
series  of  his  thoughts  running  some- 
what as  follows : 

"  Lucky  it  isn't  William  that  I'm 
engaged  to  !  —  Rather  undesirable 
brother-in-law  !  —  However,  no  dan- 
ger that  Ann  will  let  him  infest  her 
household  much  !  —  Hope  Mr.  Button 
doesn't  own  Hope  Chapel  building 
too  !  —  Wonder  if  I  could  get  a  copy 
of  that  police  list  of  New  York  good 
men  that  own  bad  houses?  — 
Shouldn't  like  to  have  a  quarrel  with 
Mr.  Button  over  that  concert  saloon 
tenement !  —  What  a  defiling  even- 
ing !  Makes  one  feel  unclean  through 
and  through  !  Touch  pitch  —  I  don't 
envy  this  Mr.  Bird  his  other  experi- 
ences that  he  wouldn't  tell  —  Sha'n't 
ask  him  either ;  I've  dived  deep 
enough  for  my  purposes  !  —  No  use 
to  try  to  do  any  thing  for  William, 
I'm  afraid  —  Fit,  too ;  — I've  heard 
that  epilepsy  never  lets  go  if  it  once 
gets  hold  —  Fitzwilliam,  I  suppose 
Scrope  will  be  calling  him  —  Sorry 
for  his  father"  — 

And  so  on,  his  mind  rambling 
round  and  round  amongst  the  par- 
ticular web  of  circumstances  closest 
to  him  at  the  time,  until  he  reached 
his  boarding-house,  on  one  of  the 
cross  streets  near  the  since  disused 
Twenty-Seventh  Street  Railroad  Sta- 
tion. Here,  after  a  good  deal  of 
trouble,  he  was  admitted,  and  with 
profuse  apologies  he  retired  to  the 
small  "hall  bedroom"  which  was  his 


lair  for  the  time  being,  and  at  once 
went  to  bed. 

He  fell  asleep  instantly ;  but  some 
broken  and  disjected  members  of  his 
waking  thoughts  still  haunted  him 
in  his  dreams.  Their  fantastic  and 
unwelcome  nature  may  have  been 
partly  caused  by  a  still  remaining 
evil  effect  of  the  nasty  liquors  of 
which  he  had  twice  partaken  that 
evening.  Perhaps  some  additional 
unpleasantness  may  have  accrued  from 
the  endemic  co-tenants  of  his  bed ; 
for  nothing  in  the  experiences  of  his 
own  home,  cleanliest  of  the  cleanly 
homes  of  old  Hartford,  had  prepared 
him  for  these  blood-sucking  vexations.. 
To  inquire  whether  or  no  any  pro- 
phetic force  or  quality  was  concerned 
or  contained  in  these  dreams,  would 
be  to  raise  questions  even  deeper 
than  those  of  entomology  or  hygiene. 

Whatever  the  causes,  however,  it  is 
certain  that  at  some  time  in  that 
night  he  dreamed  a  grotesque  and 
disagreeable  dream,  one  of  those  pe- 
culiarly distinct  and  truthful-seeming 
ones  that  occasionally  come  to  us, 
and  which  leave  in  the  mind  the 
memory  as  of  a  real  past  experience. 
It  appeared  to  him  that  he  was  with 
difficulty  making  his  way  westward 
along  the  sidewalk  on  the  north  side 
of  Pearl  Street,  Hartford,  between 
Main  and  Trumbull  Streets.  The 
walk  was  one  unbroken  sheet  of 
"  glare  ice,"  and  the  weather  was 
bitter  cold.  As  he  slid  and  tottered 
unsteadily  along,  he  suddenly, — but 
with  a  horror  singularly  in  the  reverse 
of  what  must  have  been  his  waking 
feelings  at  an  appeal  from  that  voice, 
—  heard  himself  called  by  name,  but 
in  a  jeering  and  most  ill-natured 
manner,  by  his  own  lady-love  — 
Miss  Ann  Jacintha  Button.  "  Here, 
here,  you  fool!"  she  scolded,  in  a 
sharp  high  tone  —  "why  don't  you 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


wait  for  rue  !  Wait,  I  tell  you  ! " 
But  scared  most  unreasonably  by  the 
call,  be  seemed  to  redouble  what  be- 
came a  frantic  effort  to  escape  instead 
of  a  mere  unstable  but  decorous  pro- 
gress along  the  street ;  and  looking 
behind  in  his  fright,  he  saw  Miss  But- 
ton skating,  —  as  it  were,  —  with  ter- 
rific velocity  upon  his  traces,  her  arms 
outstretched  as  if  to  seize  him,  with 
something  of  the  fell  and  fatal  per- 
tinacity of  Death  after  the  Youth  in 
the  New  England  Primer  — 

"  Youth  forward  slips  — 

Death  soonest  nips." 

Witli  horribly  inefficient  increase 
of  effort,  he  scrambled  onward,  think- 
ing "  I'll  get  round  the  corner  of  Trum- 
bull Street  in  a  minute,  and  then  I'll 
run  !  "  —  though  why  he  should  not 
have  adopted  this  unutterably  base 
and  cowardly  expedient  at  once,  he 
could  not  have  told,  —  unless  be- 
cause he  must  have  tumbled  down. 
Still  he  strove  forward,  while  the  calls 
and  jeers  and  reproaches  of  the  pursu- 
ing maiden  grew  as  voluble  and  furi- 
ous as  the  magical  voices  that  in  the 
Arabian  tale  beset  persons  ascending 
the  hill  on  their  road  to  the  Talking 
Bird,  the  Singing  Tree  and  the  Yellow 
Water.  Persons  met  him  and  passed 
him,  looking  with  open  contempt 
upon  his  flight ;  and  ever  and  anon 
Miss  Button  threw  in  a  sarcastic  re- 
quest to  them  to  "see  that  fool  try- 
ing to  run  away ! "  The  icy  side- 
walk of  the  single  block  from  the  Pearl 
Street  Church  to  the  Town  Clerk's 
Office  seemed  to  stretch  into  a  per- 
spective as  hopeless  as  the  whole 
Great  Arctic  Floe;  and  just  as  his 
fright,  his  vexation  at  not  getting 
forward,  and  his  mortification  at 
making  such  an  exhibition  in  public, 
began  to  be  further  complicated  by 
fantastic  doubts  as  to  the  topographi- 
cal possibilities  of   what  he   was  ac- 


tually about,  he  woke,  with  an  incred- 
ible sense  of  relief,  and  before  he  fell 
asleep  again,  he  puzzled  himself  for 
a  long  time,  trying  to  decide  whether 
there  was  any  rational  element  in  the 
vision.  Possibly  the  fact  of  his  mak- 
ing the  inquiry  may  have  been  evi- 
dence for  the  affirmative ;  but  if  so, 
it  was  without  any  consciousness  or 
assent  on  his  part. 

CHAPTER   XV. 

The  proposed  "  see-ance  "  (that  is 
what  most  of  them  call  it,  with  accent 
on  the  first  syllable,  doubtless  suppos- 
ing it  to  mean  a  session  of  seers)  of 
the  next  day  being  postponed  for 
some  reason  or  other,  Adrian  passed 
his  Thursday  and  Friday  in  sight- 
seeing and  other  varied  occupations, 
taking  care  to  find  pretexts  for  calling 
two  or  three  times  at  Mr.  Van  Braam's 
and  once  or  twice  at  Mr.  Button's,  as 
was  right  and  proper.  He  also  met 
more  than  once  Mr.  Scrope  and  Mr. 
Scrope's  new  friend  Bird  the  police 
reporter,  wjth  whom  the  free  and 
easy  young  Englishman  seemed  to 
have  struck  up  a  friendship  almost 
as  prompt  and  absorbing  as  that  of 
the  soulful  maiden  in  "  The  Rovers, 
or,  The  Double  Arrangement,"  who, 
after  two  minutes'  converse  with 
another  soulful  maiden  that  she  has 
never  met  before,  exclaims,  "A  sud- 
den thought  strikes  me  —  let  us 
swear  an  eternal  friendship!" 

Mr.  Bird  was,  however,  in  fact  a 
"very  nice  fellow."  He  was  quiet, 
silent  rather  than  talkative,  but  had  a 
way  of  knowing  eveiy  thing  —  with- 
in a  certain  range,  that  is,  —  giving 
a  clear  and  sufficient  account  of  it 
if  applied  to,  in  a  perfectly  unpre- 
tending manner;  and  there  was  an 
air  of  steadiness  and  coolness  that 
somehow  made  him  comfortable  to  be 
with.     Besides,  he  was  willing  to  go 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


99 


anywhere,  provided,  his  professional 
duties,  which  were  somewhat  irregu- 
lar, allowed,  and  as  his  knowledge  of 
the  evil  side  of  city  life  appeared  —  so 
far  at  least — to  be  peculiarly  complete, 
he  was  just  the  guide,  philosopher 
and  friend  that  the  scatter-brained 
Scrope  wanted.  Indeed,  Scrope  urged 
Adrian  to  go  with  him  and  Bird 
on  more  than  one  voyage  of  in- 
quiry during  these  same  two  days  ; 
but  the  young  man  had  had  quite 
enough  for  the  present  of  the  subsoil- 
ing  investigations  that  seemed  so 
delightful  to  the  Englishman ;  and 
the  more  mysterious  and  enthusiastic 
Scrope  became  in  his  descriptions  and 
anticipations,  the  less  did  Adrian  rel- 
ish either  the  pursuit  or  the  pursuer. 
Bird  seemed  totally  indifferent  as  to 
these  expeditions  themselves,  and  to 
be  actuated  only  by  a  pleasant  good- 
natured  willingness  to  obtain  for  the 
eager  young  foreigner  any  knowledge 
or  experience  whatever  that  he  might 
desire,  without  raising  any  question 
about  good  or  evil. 

On  the  evening  of  Friday,  however, 
Adrian  and  Civille  made  their  ap- 
pearance in  due  season  at  the  little 
hall  which  was  the  usual  gathering- 
place  of  the  Solidarite  de  VAvenir ; 
a  rather  close  and  fusty  upper  room 
in  a  public  building  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Stuyvesant  Place.  It  is  a 
discouraging  fact  that  reforming  as- 
semblies are  usually  almost  as  ill  ven- 
tilated as  primary  meetings.  If  the 
founders  of  the  New  Patent  Future 
don't  provide  clean  fresh  atmos- 
pheric air  to  begin  with,  they  need 
not  expect  they  can  bring  about 
a  clean  fresh  social  atmosphere.  A 
dirty  philosopher  may  perhaps  by  pos- 
sible exception  teach  a  clean  philoso- 
phy. So  may  a  frail  and  crooked- 
looking  person  possess  a  good  deal  of 
etrength  ;  but  it  is  not  probable. 


Adrian  and  Civille  accommodated 
themselves  with  seats  pretty  near  the 
desk,  somewhat  at  one  side,  and 
which,  by  virtue  of  a  curve  in  the 
line  of  the  seats,  gave  a  view  both  of 
the  little  stage  and  of  all  the  auditors. 
They  had  hardly  settled  themselves 
in  their  places,  before  Messrs.  Scrope 
and  Bird  —  who,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered, had  received  from  Miss  Civille, 
permission  to  be  present,  —  and  Mr. 
"William  Button  along  with  them, 
who  had  not  received  any  such  per- 
mission, —  walked  gravely  in,  and 
espying  the  young  people,  came  and 
ensconced  themselves,  after  salutation 
due,  behind  them ;  Bird  behind  Ci- 
ville, Scrope  behind  Adrian,  next  to 
the  right  and  Button  at  Scrope's 
right,  so  as  to  be  furthest  from  Civille  ; 
a  diagram  apparently  laid  down  by 
pure  chance,  but  which  very  neatly  rep- 
resented the  spiritual  relations  of  the 
five  ;  Civille  and  Adrian  (for  instance) 
perhaps  not  very  far  from  the  same 
line,  but  Civille  at  the  left  or  heart 
side  ;  Bird  very  decidedly  behind  her  ; 
Scrope  at  least  as  much  further  from 
her  as  the  hypothenuse  of  a  right  an- 
gled triangle  is  longer  than  a  side  ; 
and  Button  at  a  trapezoidal  distance. 
The  room  rapidly  filled  up  with  men 
and  women,  a  good  many  of  the  lat- 
ter coming  without  masculine  escort ; 
it  was  not  long  before  every  seat  was 
full,  and  a  number  of  later  comers 
were  forced  to  stand  in  a  row  next  the 
walls.  A  grave  and  tall  old  man 
with  long  thick  iron-gray  hair 
combed  smoothly  back  over  his  head 
and  behind  his  ears,  arose  from  one 
of  the  side  seats  and  took  the  chair. 
There  was  a  sort  of  expectant  inter- 
val of  a  few  minutes,  and  a  buzz  of 
whispering  talk  like  a  thin  acoustic 
cloud  floating  at  the  level  of  the  peo- 
ple's heads.  To  this  our  quintette  of 
friends  quietly  contributed. 


100 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


"  How  d'ye  like  the  looks  of  the 
Solidarity  de  Lavenoo  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
William  Button,  among  the  others, 
in  Adrian's  right  ear.  A  spirituous 
incense  on  his  breath  floated  round  at 
the  same  time  to  his  hearer's  nose. 

"  All  very  nice,  so  far,"  replied 
Adrian,  smiling  at  the  young  gentle- 
man's joke. 

"  Queer  (  rowd,"  pursued  Button  — 
''like  boarding-house  butter  —  more 
hair  than  fat." 

This,  though  inelegant  in  point  of 
rhetoric,  was  a  very  just  observation 
in  substance,  as  Adrian  perceived  to 
his  great  amusement  as  he  glanced 
around  the  room.  In  truth,  he  thought 
to  himself  that  Button  alone  was 
probably  possessed  of  more  fat  than 
all  tbe  rest  of  the  assembly.  They 
were  terribly  skinny,  indeed,  almost 
all  of  them,  with  hollow  eyes,  lank 
cheeks,  and  frames  as  spare  as  if 
the  assembly  was  a  congress  of 
clothes-horses.  Adrian  fancied  they 
had  all  been  desiccated  in  some  hot 
dry  air,  and  he  had  a  feeling  as  if  it 
was  still  playing  about  among  them. 
Sensitive  to  impressions  and  atmos- 
pheres, be  seemed  almost  to  feel  that 
his  own  lips  and  his  eyes  were  begin- 
ning to  parch  a  little ;  that  he  was 
beginning  to  dry  up  in  the  heat  that 
seemed  to  quiver  in  the  crowded  room. 
In  truth  he  had  entered  into  a  new 
world ;  the  thin  ghostly  windy  over- 
heated oven-dried  world  of  Talking 
Reform  Enthusiasts,  that  he  had  so 
often  heard  of,  but  had  never  really 
touched  and  felt ;  that  strange  un- 
real buzz,  of  mere  good  intention 
with  so  little  morality  or  religion 
mingling  in  it,  so  little  positive  con- 
structive intellect,  above  all  so  infi- 
nitely less  of  real  power  —  of  common 
sense.  A  fantastic  realm  is  theirs, 
situated,  like  the  Nephelococcygia, 
the  cloud-bird-land,  of  Aristophanes, 


between  the  heavens  and  the  earth. 
Here  they  flit,  with  no  footing  on 
the  one,  and  no  reach  into  the  other, 
yet  with  a  feeling  that  like  the  Birds 
of  the  witty  Greek  dramatist  they 
are  managing  both.  But  they  have 
no  hold.  Like  the  ghosts  that 
flocked  about  Ulysses  at  the  entrance 
to  Hades,  their  own  unsubstantiality 
repels  them  when  they  try  to  grasp. 
A  curious  further  detail  or  two  of  anal- 
ogy might  be  traced  between  those 
melancholy  Odyssean  shades  and  our 
Talking  Enthusiasts  of  to-day.  They 
are  querulous ;  there  is  something  re- 
mote and  thin  in  all  their  utterances  ; 
they  gibber ;  and  some  of  them  at 
least  —  such  as  the  extreme  Red 
Republicans  for  instance,  make  their 
nearest  approach  to  a  substantial  and 
efficient  life  by  drinking  warm  blood. 
The  present  occasion,  too,  although 
Adrian  had  not  been  told  of  it,  was  a 
grand  field  day  or  General  Muster, 
/such  as  should  take  place  for  every 
army  from  time  to  time,  to  serve  as 
roll-call,  to  enable  the  force  to  en- 
courage itself  by  the  sight  of  its 
whole  proud  self  all  together  and  by 
the  consciousness  of  its  power  in 
unison ;  and  to  maintain  habits  of 
associated  activity  and  concerted 
effort.  The  hosts  of  progress  — 
or  rather  Progress, — were  here  in 
presence.  Hosts  is  the  word;  for 
each  of  those  skinny  middle-aged 
women,  each  of  those  lank  long- 
haired, dried-eyed  men,  is  a  host  in 
h{™]self  —  if  you  will  accept  the 
host's  own  word  for  it. 

Another  trait  in  this  assembly  was 
very  striking  to  Adrian.  This  was 
the  exceptional  forms  of  the  heads. 
In  a  State  legislature,  in  the  repre- 
sentative deliberative  assembly  of  a 
powerful  religious  sect,  the  large 
average  size  of  the  heads  may  be 
noticeable,    or   their   average   height 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


101 


—  and  sometimes  their  average  bald- 
ness ;  but  they  are  almost  all  heads 
that  do  not  greatly  vary  from  a  usual 
form.  But  the  Solidarite  looked  in 
this  particular  like  the  head-maker's 
lumber-room  for  bad  jobs.  Some  of 
the  people  had  over-large  brains  on  thin 
weak  necks ;  some  of  the  heads  were 
small  and  over-intense ;  some  were  odd- 
ly high  and  narrow;  some  bulged  up- 
ward and  forward;  some  were  cut 
short  off  in  a  perpendicular  line 
close  behind  the  ears ;  some  shot  out 
in  a  shelving  slope  over  the  eyes; 
some  poked  up  and  back  into  a  peak 
at  the  crown. 

Adrian,  studying  this  grotesque 
assortment  of  exteriors,  and  musing 
upon  the  spirit  of  the  assembty,  strove 
to  apprehend  some  element  in  it 
which  might  seem  a  reasonable  point 
of  sympathy  for  attracting  such  a 
finely  and  sensitively  organized  per- 
son as  Civille.  The  best  conclusion 
he  could  reach  was,  however,  that 
there  must  be  in  her  an  appreciation 
of  their  good  intentions,  and  a  loving 
charit}'-,  together  large  and  strong 
enough  to  silence  any  repugnance 
that  she  might  feel  from  the  side  of 
taste,  or  any  jeers  from  the  mirthful 
side  of  her  nature.  A  priori,  most 
certainly,  one  would  judge  that  a 
fastidious  and  delicately  cultured  lady 
could  only  have  laughed,  or  looked  the 
other  way.  .  As  it  was,  she  seemed 
to  him  almost  like  a  solitary  Sister 
of  Charity  in  a  hospital  full  of  harm- 
less lunatics. 

—  The  gray  haire'd  old  chairman 
rapped  thrice  upon  the  desk  : 

— "  The  Solidarite  will  please 
come  to  order  !  " 

—  "  Don  Rodrigo  Scipio  de  Nada, 
of  Cuba,  will  address  the  friends,  on 
the  Progress  of  the  Physical  Sciences." 

Don  Rodrigo,  a  short  slight  little 
man,  very  gentlemanly  in  dress  and 


bearing,  with  black  eyes  and  hair, 
a  dark  complexion,  a  pleasant  face,  a 
smiling  and  courtly  manner,  on  this 
stepped  forward  from  one  of  the  front 
seats  and  opened  the  business  of  the 
evening.  Nobody  could  possibly 
have  surmised  what  the  graceful  little 
gentleman  was  going  to  say.  He 
began  with  a  well  worded  apology  for 
his  English,  — which  did  not  need  it, 
—  and  then  went  on  somewhat  thus  : 
"  One  of  the  Physical  Sciences  re- 
cently investigated  with  the  most  ac- 
tive interest  is  Optics.  —  If  we  admit 
a  beam  of  the  sun's  light  through  a 
small  hole  into  a  dark  room,  and  cause 
it  to  fall  upon  a  smooth  white  surface 
after  passing  through  a  triangular 
piece  of  glass  called  a  prism,  there  will 
be  seen  upon  the  white  surface  not  a 
spot  of  white  light,  but  a  bar  composed 
of  successive  portions  of  different  col- 
ors. This  is  called  the  Solar  Spectrum." 
And  so  on  ;  being  the  merest  rudi- 
ments of  the  subject,  as  given  in  any 
school  philosophy.  Poor  little  Don 
Rodrigo  !  His  notions  about  the 
average  attainments  of  a  probable  au- 
dience in  that  community  were  based 
on  the  condition  of  common  schools 
in  Cuba.  He  was  importing  coals  into 
Newcastle  as  fast  as  he  could  ;  you 
may  say  of  the  bituminous  variety 
too,  by  the  spontaneously  combustible 
tendency  which  was  quickly  devel- 
oped. Por  a  few  moments  the  hearers 
were  mannerly  and  quiet  enough  ; 
then  they  began  to  whisper  and  gig- 
gle ;  to  grow  restless  and  stir  about 
in  their  seats.  An  odd  looking  bald 
man,  very  dusty  of  aspect,  in  a  brown 
coat,  hopped  up  at  the  further  side  of 
the  room  and  opened  his  mouth,  with 
the  obvious  purpose  of  interrupting, 
but  was  expeditiously  pulled  down 
again  by  a  more  forbearing  compan- 
ion, which  enterprise  caused  a  ripple 
of  laughter,  and  Don  Rodrigo  paused 


102 


Scrope  ;    or,  The  Lost  Library. 


a  moment  in  innocent  wonder.  In  a 
few  moments  more  the  bald  man  made 
another  vain  attempt  to  hop  up.  Al- 
most at  the  same  time,  another  queer 
looking  person  with  a  sharp  wrinkled 
face  and  dyed  hair  and  beard,  — 
though  really  queerness  in  that  assem- 
bly consisted  in  not  being  queer  — 
with  the  same  jerkiness  of  action  as 
the  bald  man's,  also  hopped  up,  and 
being  either  less  fortunate  in  a  com- 
panion or  more  powerful  in  resolution 
or  in  physique,  he  completed  his 
nefarious,  or  at  least  discourteous, 
design.  "  Mr.  Chairman,"  he  snapped 
out  in  a  high  sharp  key,  speaking 
very  fast  and  fidgety,  and  growing 
madder  as  he  went  on,  "  Mr.  Chairman, 
I  think  the  gentleman  had  better  stop 
right  here.  I  didn't  come  here  to- 
night to  be  told  a  lot  of  stuff  that  I 
learned  when  I  was  a  little  boy  at 
school.  He's  wasting  the  time  of  this 
meeting,  when  it  ought  to  be  occupied 
in  promoting  the  greatest  interest  of 
the  human  race." 

A  strange  cracked  feminine  voice 
a  little  behind  Adrian  squealed  out, 

"  I  think  the  brother's  quite  right." 

Don  Rodrigo,  altogether  dismayed, 
surrendered  at  once,  and  crept  humbly 
back  from  the  stage  to  his  place,  where 
he  sat  immovable  and  distraught,  all 
the  rest  of  the  evening,  gazing  at  the 
toes  of  his  neat  little  boots,  as  uncon- 
scious of  the  collision  of  majestic  intel- 
lects that  was  going  on  around  him 
as  one  of  the  corpses  in  Kaulbach's 
great  picture,  of  the  furious  war- 
rior- wraiths  contending  in  the  air 
above. 

The  cracked  squealing  voice  re- 
sumed ; 

"  Mr.  Chairman  !  "  — 

The  chairman  gave  an  uneasy  look 
around  him,  like  one  who  seeks  shel- 
ter from  an  impending  shower.  Ci- 
ville   whispered  to  Adrian,  who  was 


with  extreme  difficulty  preserving  a 
grave  countenance, 

"It's  Mrs.  Gloriana  Babbles  the 
Inspirational  Speaking  Medium. 
She's  a  little  troublesome  sometimes, 
for  the  spirits  that  control  her  have 
many  things  to  say." 

Adrian  turned  and  gazed  at  Mrs. 
Babbles  with  a  good  deal  of  interest, 
for  it  was  his  first  close  view  of  one 
of  the  prophetesses  of  the  period,  and 
she  was  only  three  seats  away.  She 
was,  it  is  needless  to  say,  skinny ; 
but  in  a  superlative  degree :  so  that 
the  idea  occurred  to  Adrian's  naughty 
mind,  whether  in  such  a  case  the  cu- 
ticle might  not  admit  of  gores  being 
cut  out  at  the  sides  or  elsewhere,  as 
they  treat  over-full  garments,  the 
slits  thus  formed  to  be  neatly  sewed 
together,  thus  restoring  a  smooth  fit. 
Otherwise,  the  good  lady,  like  Mrs. 
Gamp,  had  "the  remains  of  a  fine 
woman  "  about  her.  She  had  once 
possessed  a  quite  comely  face,  and  a 
good  figure.  But  little  beside  the 
bones  was  left  to  show  it;  her  blue 
eyes  were  faded  and  sunken  in  deep 
sockets  ;  the  lips,  thin  and  pale,  were 
a  little  crowded  by  the  artificial  teeth  ; 
the  whole  face  had  a  dried  look  ;  the 
long  stringy  curls  that  dangled  at 
either  side  of  her  head  looked  wispy 
and  fatigued  ;  and  her  voice,  besides 
being  cracked  and  high  and  thin,  was 
curiously  nasal  withal ;  a  falsetto- 
soprano  squeal  through  the  nose. 

"  Mister  Chairman,"  she  began,  "  I 
am  impressed  this  evening  with  the 
greatness  of  fhe  work  before  us. 
Brethren  and  sisters,"  —  Adrian,  look- 
ing back  to  the  chairman,  saw  that 
the  old  gentleman's  face  had  assumed 
a  grotesque  expression  of  rueful  en- 
durance, and  he  drew  a  very  long 
breath  to  the  same  effect  —  But  at 
the  moment  up  jumped  again  the 
guardian  angel  with  dyed  hair, 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


10; 


—  "A  shadow  like  an   angel,  with  bright 
hair 

*      Dabbled  in  dye,"  — 

snapped  out  that  he  rose  to  a  point 
of  order,  and  therewithal  he  moved 
that  all  speeches  be  limited  to  five 
minutes.  This  was  seconded,  Adrian 
thought,  by  almost  everybody  in  the 
room,  and  was  carried  by  an  enormous 
majority,  the  cracked  voice  of  Mrs. 
Babbles  being  prominent  among  the 
few  negatives. 

"Dear  friends,"  resumed  the  me- 
dium, waving  about  in  a  sort  of 
rhythmic  motion,  "  I  sorrow  that  such 
narrow  limitations  should  be  laid 
upon  the  spirit-utterance.  Yet  the 
loss  is  yours.  I  am  impressed  to  reveal 
to  you  the  sure  approach  of  the 
glorious  day  of  spiritual  enlargement. 
I  see,  in  the  immediate  future,  bright 
traces  of  the  wondrous  sunrise  of 
spirit  freedom,  of  spirit  love,  of  spirit 
happiness  "  — 

And  so  on.  At  the  end  of  five 
minutes  sharp,  rap  rap  rap !  went 
the  old  chairman's  gavel  with  most 
emphatic  good  will ;  and  Mrs.  Bab- 
bles succumbed  at  once. 

Then  succeeded  a  number  of  speak- 
ers, some  on  one  subject  and  some 
on  another,  some  of  whom  were .  in 
the  most  shameless  and  partial  man- 
ner allowed  to  transgress  the  whole- 
some five-minute  rule.  Mrs.  Babbles 
murmured  audibly  at  this  more  than 
once,  but  in  vain.  A  spirit  of  oppres- 
sion was  present,  and  she  could  not 
resist  it.  Adrian  listened,  in  wonder 
at  the  immense  range  of  views  which 
were  presented  —  from  the  extremest 
intolerant  Calvinist  piety  to  the  most 
utter  denial  of  any  thing  superhu- 
man or  of  a  distinction  between  right 
and  wrong;  from  absolute  materialism 
to  absolute  spiritism ;  from  a  servile 
obedience  to  organized  legality,  to 
the    jumpingest  individual    freedom. 


Equally  was  he  struck  with  the  fan- 
tastic nature  of  the  suggestions  thrown 
out,  at  their  astounding  disconnected- 
ness, and  at  the  wonderful  tolerance 
of  the  speakers,  which  was  very  genu- 
ine, and  very  funny  ;  for  it  consist- 
ed, not  so  much  in  giving  hospi- 
tality to  other  people's  views,  as  in 
being  patient  while  other  people 
snubbed  your  own.  They  snapped 
and  snarled,  as  if  ready  to  bite  one 
another's  heads  off ;  the  mordant  dusty 
dyed  man  getting  full  as  many  nips 
as  he  gave,  and  though  everybody 
spoke  as  irritably  as  if  they  all  had 
neuralgia,  yet  nobody  resented  it. 
They  were  no  more  civil,  and  no  more 
resentful,  than  so  many  members  of 
the  Peace  Society ;  which  indeed  a 
good  many  of  them  were. 

But  the  jumble  was  terrific.  There 
was  a  neat  little  brown-eyed  woman 
who  solemnly  told  in  an  absorbed 
manner  and  with  a  sweet  voice  how 
her  prayers  had  already  slain  the  Pope 
of  Rome,  and  how  the  Scarlet  Lady 
was  in  consequence  on  or  before  the 
seventh  day  of  the  seventh  month  of 
the  seventh  year  from  that,  to  be  fi- 
nally dislodged  from  her  sevenfold 
seat.  There  was  Mr.  Jobraker  the 
Linguist  with  his  new  Universal  Lan- 
guage, in  which  he  delivered  a  short 
address,  after  explaining  that  as  this 
language  was  based  on  the  principles 
of  the  universe,  all  those  who  were  in 
the  right  relations  to  the  universe 
would  understand  every  syllable.  The 
alternative  was  obvious,  and  Adrian 
had  to  conclude  that  his  relations 
were  not  right  —  if  Mr.  Jobraker  was  ; 
for  he  could  hear  in  the  new  language 
only  a  hash  of  uncouth  noises.  Then 
arose  a  woman  who  developed  a  theo- 
ry that  only  women  have  souls  ;  men 
having  none,  but  only  enough  of  a 
sort  of  animal  intelligence  to  fit  them 
for  waiting  on  the  ladies.     This  was 


104 


Scrope  ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


received  with  a  good  deal  of  applause, 
in  which  the  oppressed  Mrs.  Bahhles 
was  particularly  vehement.  There 
was  a  man  whose  view  was  that  only 
the  Old  Testament  should  be  regarded 
as  the  authoritative  scriptures,  for  the 
reason  that  neither  Christ  nor  any 
New  Testament  writer  had  command- 
ed or  recommended  any  such  book  or 
writing  except  the  Old  Testament; 
there  was  a  person,  with  the  puzzled 
and  weary  look  of  one  that  labors 
among  thoughts  too  heaVy  for  him, 
and  whose  eyes  gleamed  with  incipi- 
ent madness,  who  delivered  an  inco- 
herent discourse,  stuffed  with  Latin 
and  Greek  references,  upon  the  com- 
ing renewal  of  all  things,  which,  he 
said,  was  in  English,  the  Period  of 
Cosmopolitics  ;  but  should  more  prop- 
erly be  called  by  the  name  (well  adapt- 
ed to  convey  a  hint  of  the  confounding 
of  all  relations  together)  —  The  Epi- 
kataparastasis.  Upon  this  poor  fel- 
low the  iive-miuute  rule  was  ruth- 
lessly enforced.  There  was  a  gentle- 
man who  was  just  returned  from  a 
great  city  in  the  interior  of  Africa, 
accompanied  by  a  native  chieftain 
therefrom  ;  —  the  names,  as  nearly  as 
Adrian  could  get  at  them  were,  the 
city  of  Ofoofoo,  the  chief  Woojublee- 
vit ;  who  looked  like  any  other  decent 
person  of  color  respectably  dressed; 
and  the  traveller  announced  that  a 
subscription  was  open  at  the  desk  to 
educate  Mr.  W nobody  subscrib- 
ing. Then  there  was  Professor  Yel- 
litt  Strong,  who  wanted  to  advocate 
his  great  project  of  an  Elocutionary 
College  for  Brakemen,  to  prevent  the 
misery  which  arises  from  so  many 
people's  not  understanding  where  they 
are  to  get  off  the  cars ;  and  Pro- 
fessor Strong  gave  some  very  impres- 
sive illustrations  of  the  inarticulate 
howls  now  in  vogue  on  railroad  trains, 
and  then  contrasted    these  with  the 


clear  and  resounding  shouts  that  ought 
to  be,  and  with  which  the  professor 
almost  hoisted  the  assembly  bodily 
off  their  seats. 

Perhaps  the  most  interesting  of  all 
however  was  a  lady  —  skinny,  of 
course,  —  elderly,  as  it  happened,  — 
who  presented  herself  as  a  delegate 
from  a  band  of  sisters  claiming  to  be 
far  in  advance  of  any  other  reformers. 

At  this  audacious  statement  the 
Solidarite  fairly  gasped.  No  won- 
der. In  advance  of  us  !  Wh}T,  they 
thought,  we  have  gone  to  the  very 
extreme  —  and  then  jumped  off,  — 
how  is  it  possible  to  float  any  further 
out  into  Chaos !  But  the  delegate 
proceeded  to  read  the  resolutions  of 
her  constituent  body.  Were  they  in 
earnest,  or  not  ?  Adrian,  dizzy  with 
the  whirling  phantoms  of  the  place, 
beset  and  buffeted  like  an  intellec- 
tual Saint  Anthony  by  a  whole  pande- 
monium of  monstrous  visions,  was 
ready  for  almost  any  thing. 

"  Resolutions,"  read  this  fearless 
champion  of  her  sex,  and  who  by  the 
way  had  visibly  possessed  herself  by 
some  means  or  other  of  no  mean  por- 
tion of  the  badge  of  nobility  which 
she  vindicated  for  her  down-trodden 
sex — 

"Resolutions    of    the    society    for 
HIRSUTE   EMANCIPATION. 

"  Whereas  there  is  every  reason  to 
believe  that  the  effeminate  beardless- 
ness  which  distinguishes  most  women 
is  an  ingeniously  contrived  badge  of 
slavery  imposed  upon  them  by  the 
Tyrant  Man  ;  and 

"  Whereas  there  is  equal  reason  to 
believe  that  one  bold,  united  and  per- 
severing effort  will  free  us  from  this 
or  any  other  physiological  mark  of  the 
degradation  of  our  sex,  therefore 

"  Resolved  :  that  we  hereby  organ- 
ize for  the  glorious  and  noble  pur- 
pose of  Securing  Beards  to  Women,  as 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


105 


the  first  step  in  the  great  progress  of 
the  age  towards  the  Equality  of  the 
Sexes. 

"Resolved  :  that  we  will  take  the 
remaining  steps  as  soon  as  we  have 
achieved  the  first. 

"  Resolved :  That  all  who  are  not 
wholly  recreant  to  the  cause  of  their 
sister  men,  degraded  below  the  least 
comprehension  of  the  Spirit  of  the 
Age,  and  lost  to  every  sense  of  jus- 
tice, are  called  upon  to  rally  round 
our  banner." 

Having  read  this  declaration,  the 
lady  informed  the  Solidarlte  that 
Mr.  Darwin's  doctrine  of  the  beauty 
of  hairlessness  was  no  other  than  a 
cunning  attempt  to  ward  off  in  ad- 
vance this  very  movement  by  the 
women.  She  developed  also  a  long  and 
unanswerable  historic  argument  con- 
structed on  the  principle  of  those  that 
show  how  all  the  good  things  in  the 
Christian  religion  were  pretty  univer- 
sally known  long  before  Christianity 
was  invented  ;  which  argument  be- 
gan with  that  striking  passage  from 
the  Old  Edda,  which  describes  how, 
in  order  to  bind  Fenrir  the  Wolf,  the 
child  of  Loki  and  Angurbodi, 

"  Al-father  sent  Skirnir  the  mes- 
senger of  Frey  into  the  country  of  the 
Dark  Elves  or  Svartalfaheim  (swart- 
elf-home)  to  engage  certain  dwarfs 
to  make  the  fetter  called  Gleipnir.  It 
was  fashioned  out  of  six  things  ;  to 
wit,  the  noise  made  by   the  foot-fall 

Of  a  cat,  THE  BEARDS  OF  WOMEN,  the 

roots  of  stones,  the  sinews  of  tears, 
the  breath  of  fish  and  the  spittle  of 
birds."  Coming  hence  down  the  long 
tract  of  ages,  the  speaker  ended  with 
a  triumphant  presentation  of  the  case 
of  Signora  Julia  Pastrana,  the  Cele- 


brated Bearded  Lady,  who,  she  said,  is 
a  living  proof  of  the  truth  of  the  new 
principles,  —  and  The  President  of  the 
Society.  The  Treasurer,  she  contin- 
ued, is  Mrs.  Jackman  of  Wilmington, 
Illinois  —  and  here  the  speaker  read 
from  a  Western  newspaper, 

"  Wilmington,  111.,  has  a  bearded  lady,  who 
is  27  years  old,  born  in  the  State  of  Maine, 
has  shaved  for  18  years,  and  weighs  150 
pounds.  She  is  short  in  stature,  and  is  mar- 
ried to  a  Mr.  Jackman.  She  wears  a  beauti- 
ful mustache  and  chin  whiskers  black  as  a 
coal.  Mrs.  Jackman  is  a  very  intelligent 
woman,  and  is  not  at  all  ashamed  of  her 
whiskers." 

There  was  also  a  Physiological  and 
Medical  Director  —  Doctor  Beard:  — 

"Patron  Saint,  the  Old  Hairy," 
thought  Adrian  ;  but  he  did  not  dare 
say  it. 

In  such  addresses  the  evening  sped 
excitingly  away.  Adrian,  always  a 
student  of  character,  was  singularly  in- 
terested in  this  astonishing  collection 
of  exceptional  types,  and  felt  the  same 
interest,  with  a  distinct  sense  of  pain 
superadded,  in  considering  the  ques- 
tion, What  business  has  my  pure  and 
delicate  cousin  Civille  in  this  rout? 
She  is  like  the  Lady  amongst  the  beasts 
in  "  Comus  "  —  how  can  I  get  her 
out?  Perplexed  and  pondering,  — 
but  reserving  his  conclusion  with  an 
instinctive  use' of  what  is  called  "the 
judicial  mind,"  until  he  should  have 
got  in  all  the  evidence,  he  resolved 
to  wait  before  making  up  his  mind, 
until  he  should  have  attended  the 
other  proposed  sittings,  namely  at  the 
medium's,  and  at  "  The  Germ."  So  he 
escorted  his  cousin  home,  —  their  talk 
consisting  of  his  inquiries .  about  the 
personages  of  the  Solidarlte  and  their 
objects,  —  and  left  her. 


106 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


PART   V. 

ual    endowments   in   the   letter   Mr. 
Button  had  given  him. 

The  see-ance  to  which  Adrian  was  "  Yes.     She's  miserably   poor,  hut 

to   escort   Civille  was    appointed   for  she  is  an  excellent  test  medium.     We 

early  Saturday  evening,  and  the  visit  shall  see  her  to-night.'"' 

to  The  Germ  was  to  follow  it ;  so  Adri-  "  But  now,  cousin  Civille,  what  did 

an  waited  on  his  cousin  accordingly,  you  tell  Mr.  Bird?     About  me,  first 

in    good   season.     As    they   left    the  of  all,  of  course  ? " 

door,  Civille  asked  Adrian  who   Mr.  An  innocent  young  woman  has  just 

Bird  was.  the    same     sweet    helpless    beautiful 

"  A  reporter,  I  believe,"  said  Adri-  gravity  that  is  so  inexpressibly  touch- 

an,  —  "  why  ?  "  ing  in  a  little  child  ;  not  an  affecta- 

"  He  called  this  morning,"  was  the  tion,   but  only  a  perfect   seriousness 

young  lady's  answer ;   "  —  rather  an  and    earnestness    of    direct    purpose, 

odd  thing,  I  thought."  The   transparent  purity  of  intention 

"Odd?     How?"  makes  up  a  million-fold  for  the  funny 

"Well — I  never  saw  him  except  ignorance  and  —  not  foolishness,  but 

the  other  evening  when  Mr.  Scrope  — inexperience,    that    is     exhibited. 

brought  him,  and   once  more  at  the  Adrian    was    not     remarkably    aged, 

Solidarite."  neither  was    he  wise    enough    to  do 

"But  if  he  has  been  properly  intro-  any   harm;    but   he    had   lived  more 

duced,  he  may  call  again  and  try  to  "  amongst  folks  "  as  they  say  in  the 

establish    an     acquaintance,    may   he  country,  and  the  solemn  satisfaction 

not  ?  "     .  with  which  his  cousin  now  went  on  to 

"Yes 1  guess  the  thing  that  tell  the  unwise  things  she  had  done 

puzzled  me  was,  his  taking  such  an  caused  in  him  a  curious  mixture  of 
interest  in  all  of  us.  I  didn't  think  of  emotions  and  reflections,  which  how- 
it  until  he  had  gone,  but  he  had  got  ever  with  a  reserve  partly  natural  and 
me  to  talk  about  almost  everybody  I  partly  acquired  he  did  not  utter  in 
know  ;  father,  Mr.  Button,  Ann,  her  words. 

mother  —  even  their  hired  girls  ;  Mr.  "Oh,"  observed  Civille,  her  sweet 

Scrope,  yourself,  the  Solidarite,  Mrs.  heartfelt  low-pitched  full-toned  voice 


Babbles,  Mi 


giving  a  wonderful  additional  inten- 


Griggs ! " — repeated    Adrian,    a    sity   of    attractiveness    even    to    the 


little  startled  — .     "  What  Griggs  ?  " 
"  Amelia      Griggs     the     medium. 

Why?" 

"Oh,"  said  Adrian,  with  an  eva- 


baby-like  simplicity  of  her  confession, 
"  Oh,  you  know  I  go  by  intuitions. 
Mr.  Bird  is  good.  I  wanted  him  to 
know  all  about  my  friends.     I  gave 


sion  which  was  upon  a  perfectly  true  you    a   very   nice    character   indeed, 

pretext,  —  "  it's   a  rather  odd  name,  cousin  Adrian.     I  told  him  how  un- 

You  know  there's  an  old  saying,  '  as  selfish  you  are,  and  how  you    don't 

merry  as  grigs.'     A  medium,  is  she  ?  "  care  about   money,  and  how  }tou  are 

He  remembered  the  allusion  to  spirit-  not  calculated  to  succeed  in  this  world, 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


107 


unless  you  should  find  some  mission- 
ary work  that  would  call  out  all  your 
energies." 

"All  that,  Civille?"  said  Adrian, 
laughing,  —  "it's  more  good  than  I 
know  of  myself,  at  any  rate."  And 
he  thought  in  his  own  mind,  "  A  nice 
recommendation  for  a  business  man  ! 
But  Bird  will  see  what  it  amounts  to, 
of  course !  " 

"  Many  thanks  for  the  favorable 
diagnosis,"  he  resumed  aloud,  — 
"  now  tell  me  all  you  said  of  the 
rest." 

So  she  did ;  she  had,  so  to  speak, 
opened  her  mental  photograph-album 
to  her  visitor,  and  confided  to  him  her 
whole  private  collection  of  portraits. 
What  she  had  told  was  not  very 
much  ;  the  innocent  observation  and 
judgments  of  a  very  intuitively  acting 
mind,  exalted,  moreover,  in  degree 
and  intensity  of  action  by  the  very 
nature  of  the  state  of  physical  ailment 
or  feebleness  or  susceptibility  which 
was  for  the  time  at  least  fastened 
upon  her;  but  without  much  real 
knowledge  of  good,  and  with  none  of 
evil.  Adrian,  somewhat  astonished  as 
he  was  at  their  unreserve,  was  startled 
by  the  truthfulness  of  some  of  the 
points,  while  he  was  sure  that  some 
others  were  quite  mistakes.  However, 
he  made  very  little  comment,  but 
when  she  ended  asked  what  she  had 
said  about  herself? 

"Myself?  — nothing." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Adrian,  "  was  it  not 
you  that  he  wanted  to  know  about?" 

"  Perhaps  it  was  —  he  called  on 
me." 

"  Well,  —  don't  encourage  him  and 
then  pretend  to  be  astonished  at  his 
taking  encouragement." 

"  That  would  be  flirting,"  decreed 
Civille  with  much  majesty.  "  I  am 
sure  you  would  not  say  so  to  me  in 
earnest." 


Adrian  hastened  to  disclaim.  But 
still,  he  took  the  liberty  of  intimating 
to  his  cousin  that  she  was  quite  at- 
tractive enough  to  make  Mr.  Bird,  or 
anybody  else,  in  love  with  her.  This 
idea  the  young  lady  put  aside  with  a 
great  deal  of  decision,  and  when  Adri- 
an would  have  persisted,  she  told  him 
plainly  that  she  didn't  want  to  hoar 
any  more  such  nonsense.  So  he  held 
his  peace  ;  but  he  was  none  the  less 
and  very  naturally,  of  opinion  that 
Bird's  interest  in  her  was  the  sole,  as 
it  was  a  sufficient,  reason  of  his  visit. 
Adrian  was  right,  too.  And  he  added 
in  his  own  thoughts  another  comment, 
no  less  just :  that  she  was  a  person 
of  much  too  ethereal  make  to  be  a 
suitable  companion  for  the  police  re- 
porter, good  fellow  and  man  of  sense 
though  he  was. 

Civille,  after  an  interval  of  silence, 
spoke  first,  as  if  she  had  in  the  mean- 
while been  pursuing  a  train  of  thought 
by  herself — like  the  River  Arethusa 
coming  up  again  after  going  under- 
ground : 

"I  shall  never  marry." 

The  solemn  tone  of  absolute  con- 
viction would  have  been  funny  enough 
if  Civille  had  been  a  hag  of  a  hun- 
dred. Being  a  singularly  attractive 
young  woman,  it  was  very  much  more 
so,  and  Adrian,  who  was  quick  enough 
to  see  the  ludicrous  side  of  things, 
had  to  pull  very  hard  to  pull  a  long 
face.  He  wished,  moreover,  to  quote 
signior  Benedick ;  "  When  I  said  I 
would  die  a  bachelor  I  did  not  know 
I  should  live  to  be  married."  But  he 
held  in  with  all  his  might,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  coming  down  to  a  tone  of 
grave  and  cousinly  counsel. 

"My  dear  cousin,"  said  he  ;  "every 
young  woman  who  is  worth  marrying 
at  all,  has  exactly  that  conviction 
some  time  or  other,  just  as,  they  say, 
any  one  who  can  become  an  orator  has 


108 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


the  awfullest  frights  lest  he  cannot. 
It  may  be  true  of  yourself;  but  you 
are  so  good  and  so  nice  and  I  like  you 
so  much  that  I  promise  you  when 
you  do  fall  in  love  I  won't  bring  up 
your  promise  against  you." 

"  Don't  talk  so,  cousin  Adrian ! 
'  Fall  in  love  ! '  If  you  could  under- 
stand how  disagreeable  the  phrase  is. 
I  can  see  how  a  woman  might  sacri- 
fice herself  to  make  another  person 
happy.  But  to  risk  a  whole  life  — 
and  other  lives  too  —  on  the  chance 
of  an  emotion  !  I  don't  think  I  am  in 
much  danger  of  it !  " 

"  I  don't  think  so  either,"  said 
Adrian.  "  But  an  intuition  may  be 
both  emotional  and  correct.  And  a 
self-sacrifice  such  as  you  speak  of 
might  be  as  much  of  a  blunder  as 
gambling  on  emotions.  The  truth  is, 
there  is  no  blinder  emotion  than  self- 
sacrifice.     It  is  as  sightless  as  anger." 

An  immense  deal  of  comfort  is 
taken  by  young  persons  of  about  as 
few  years  and  as  little  experience  as  this 
couple,  in  comparing  their  profound 
maxims  and  reflections.  The  conversa- 
tion of  the  present  occasion  was  thus 
felt.  It  continued  until  they  reached 
the  place  of  the  see-ance,  with  no 
result  in  particular  for  Civille,  who 
only  spoke  whatever  came  into  her  in- 
nocent fearless  mind,  and  whose  igno- 
rance of  things  and  people  in  general 
was  only  exceeded  by  her  ignorance 
of  herself.  Adrian,  on  his  part,  was 
a  little  older  and  wiser  —  but  he  was 
talking  with  a  purpose.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  was  talking  and 
watching  in  order  to  form  a  deliberate 
judgment  on  the  nature  and  condi- 
tion of  a  human  soul. 

But  he  could  not  feel  that  he  dis- 
covered much,  and  as  he  put  questions 
or  suggested  distinctions  or  listened 
to  replies,  he  kept  thinking  over  and 
over  again  of  that  vast  spring  of  living 


water  in  the  wild  Florida  woods,  where 
the  visitor  looking  over  the  edge  of 
the  boat  is  frightened,  because  the 
water  is  so  absolutely  transparent  that 
he  sees  no  water.  "  Is  her  soul  so 
shallow  ?  Is  her  soul  so  deep  ?  Is  it 
only  utterly  transparent  ?  "  he  kept 
asking  and  asking, — and  his  inter 
est  in  her  as  a  fellow-being  in  peril, 
as  a  relative  who  might  be  endanger- 
ing the  reputation  and  happiness  of 
a  large  circle  of  friends,  began  to 
take  the  special  additional  interest 
—  to  him  excessively  attractive,  — of 
a  living  and  new  problem  in  practical 
psychology.  Was  she  really  such  a 
solitary-hearted  thing?  It  might  be. 
The  suspicions  pointed  at  Civille  had 
not  made  the  least  lodgement  in  the 
honest  young  fellow's  clear  mind  ;  and 
this  being  so,  he  now  began  to  feel  that 
they  were  to  be  interpreted  as  the  re- 
action of  low  souls  against  another  too 
high  for  them  ;  that  perhaps  she  was 
really  too  good  to  live  happily  amongst 
human  beings.  He  instinctively  rev- 
erenced women  ;  he  had  not  seen  so 
very  much  of  Civille,  it  is  true ;  but 
all  that  he  had  seen  was  most  lovely ; 
and  he  was  almost  ready  even  now  to 
conclude  that  in  good  faith  she  ought 
always  to  live  single,  because  nobody 
would  ever  be  fit  to  possess  her. 

While  they  talked,  and  he  consid- 
ered, they  had  —  on  foot  or  by  street- 
car—  reached  that  dreary  block  of 
houses  on  the  south  side  of  Bleecker 
Street  between  Thompson  and  Sul- 
livan some  distance  west  of  Broadway, 
called  Depau  Row.  This  block,  in 
times  gone  by,  was  a  centre  of  magnifi- 
cence, having  a  paved  archway  pier- 
cing the  building  between  each  two 
tenements  by  way  of  porte  cochere  ; 
separate  wings  in  the  rear  for  offices 
and  servants'  rooms;  immense  big 
parlors  and  chambers  with  heavy  old 
fashioned   plaster  cornices  and  great 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


109 


floriated  dabs  of  the  same  in  the  raid- 
die  of  the  ceilings  arour>d  the  gas 
chandeliers,  as  if  piercing  the  ceil- 
ing had  made  a  very  bad  plaster  of 
Paris  sore  with  granulations ;  faded 
fresco  work  in  abundance ;  and  the 
like  remainders  of  departed  glory. 
The  great  merchants  of  past  ages  — for 
the  grandeur  of  these  houses  belongs 
to  a  remote  New  York  City  antiquity 
of  at  least  twenty-five  and  perhaps 
thirty  years  ago  !  —  whose  households 
once  enlivened  these  abodes,  are  dead, 
or  are  inhabiting  far  more  gorgeous 
abodes  on  Murray  Hill  or  Fifth  Ave- 
nue ;  for  the  city  builds  itself  north- 
ward, and  its  rich  people  evacuate 
place  after  place,  leaving  each  locality 
deserted,  as  the  inhabitant  of  the  nau- 
tilus does  the  successive  chambers  of 
his  shell.  Thus  the  great  Depau 
Row  houses  are  rented  to  boarding- 
house-keepers  or  to  tenants  of  single 
rooms.  The  lofty  comfortless  caverns 
are  depressing  and  horrid ;  it  is  like 
living  in  a  deserted  city  of  giants  ;  one 
is  tempted  to  suppose  that  rich  men  a 
quarter  of  a  century  ago  were  all  twelve 
feet  high.  The  dismayed  tenant  tries 
in  vain  to  secrete  himself  in  a  corner 
of  the  room  like  Ulysses  in  the  cave 
of  Polyphemus ;  he  feels  as  if  some 
mighty  ghost  would  stride  forth  upon 
him  in  the  night  and  eat  him ;  and 
he  soon  flees  away  to  seek  a  smaller 
and  snugger  abode,  terrified  into  the 
non-payment  of  even  the  insignificant 
rent  which  is  all  that  such  ill-adapted 
premises  will  bring. 

Such  mystical  and  ghostly  associa- 
tions however,  it  is  obvious,  make  such 
quarters  fittest  of  all  for  the  necro- 
mantic marvel-shop  of  the  Medium. 
It  stands  to  reason  that  to  this  spectral 
person,  a  real  ghost  would  be  a  real 
godsend  —  that  is,  supposing  the  Me- 
dium not  to  be  frightened. 

There  are  different  kinds  of  mediums 


as  there  are  of  spirit  communications. 
But  they  are  almost  all  alike  in  one 
thing  —  they  sell  their  revelations  for 
fifty  cents  apiece.  There  is  the  Heal- 
ing Medium,  whose  office  is  to  discern 
diseases  and  to  cure  them  ;  the  differ- 
ent kinds  of  Test  Mediums  whose  mes- 
sage from  the  spirit  land  may  always 
be  stated  thus  :  "  I  show  you  a  puzzle. 
If  you  can't  say  how  it  was  done, 
then  it  follows  that  it  was  by  a  spirit. 
Price  fifty  cents."  There  is  the  Psy- 
chometrist,  who  reveals  character  from 
inspecting  a  toe-nail  or  a  lock  of  hair. 
There  is  the  Spirit  Artist,  who  paints 
or  draws  or  photographs  spirit-por- 
traits. There  is  the  Inspirational 
Medium  or  Trance  Speaker ;  the 
Consulting  Business  Medium,  and  so 
on. 

The  meetingof  this  evening  at  Mrs. 
Babbles'  room,  was  however  not  of 
any  of  these  sorts,  although  mediums 
of  more  than  one  of  these  established 
varieties  were  present.  It  was  of  still 
another  kind,  comparing  with  the 
others  somewhat  as  a  theological  sem- 
inary or  medical  school  compares  with 
the  settled  clergyman's  or  the  estab- 
lished physician's  operations.  It  was 
a  sort  of  school  of  the  prophets,  or  Col- 
lege de  Propaganda  Pide ;  and  the 
technical  spiritist  name  for  it  is,  "  a 
developing  circle."  Like  all  activi- 
ties, the  spiritist  phenomena  depend 
for  fulness  and  readiness  of  manifesta- 
tion a  good  deal  upon  practice  and 
habit.  Moreover,  Spiritism,  as  thus 
far  practised,  has  a  good  deal  of  the 
vampire  in  it.  This  is  because  it  has 
worked  on  and  through  the  nervous 
system,  which  of  all  the  human  sys- 
tems draws  most  directly  from  life- 
sources.  Whatever  acts  by  excitement 
of  the  nerves,  sucks  close  from  the 
very  spring-heads  of  life.  This  is  the 
reason  why  so  many  spiritists  dry  up 
so  and  grow  skinny.     Let  the  nerve- 


110 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


excitement  cease,  and  they  will  be- 
come as  fat  as  Christians. 

New  mediums  must  be  found,  of 
course,  from  time  to  time,  to  preserve 
the  apostolical  succession  and  to  spread 
the  true  doctrine.  An  approved  mode 
for  this  purpose  is,  to  set  up  a  "  devel- 
oping circle,"  presided  ovor  by  persons 
of  experience,  and  in  a  series  of  ses- 
sions to  try  all  comers,  and  as  good 
subjects  shall  appear,  to  train  them  in 
the  manifestations  and  work  them 
gradually  into  the  regular  professional 
order. 

Civille,  even  in  perfect  health,  was 
naturally  as  sensitive  as  a  healthy  hu- 
man beingcould  possibly  be,  from  mere 
purity  of  temperament,  and  fineness 
of  fibre  and  organization.  Unhealthy 
conditions  of  life  —  want  of  exercise, 
of  sunlight,  of  fresh  air,  for  instance 
—  had  recently  caused  her  to  drift  be- 
yond the  line  of  healthy  susceptibility, 
both  in  mind  and  in  body,  and  the  quick 
wits  of  her  spiritist  friends  had  with 
considerable  delight  recognized  in  her 
the  qualities  for  a  medium  of  rare  and 
perhaps  unequalled  powers.  Experi- 
enced as  the}'  were  in  managing  their 
affairs,  they  had  said  nothing  directly 
to  her  of  any  ulterior  purpose,  but 
had  with  much  shrewdness  confined 
themselves  to  discussions  and  expla- 
nations of  the  subject  generally  and 
of  such  phenomena  as  she  had  herself 
undergone  or  witnessed  ;  the  proper 
method  being,  so  to  arrange  that  the 
novice  shall  seem  to  acquire  by  her 
own  seeking  and  her  own  finding, 
the  mysterious  powers  or  knowledges 
which  are  to  fascinate  her  into  a  pro- 
fessor. Acquirements  thus  made 
are  most  treasured  ;  convictions  thus 
reached  are  as  nearly  impregnable  as 
human  convictions  can  be. 

Adrian  and  Civille,  passing  under 
one  of  the  archways,  stopped  at  a 
door  midway  in  one  side  of  it;  that 


looked  very  dark  and  mysterious  in 
the  deep  shadow  of  the  place.  Open- 
ing this  door,  they  entered  a  roomy 
and  deserted-looking  hall,  ascended  a 
broad  staircase  along  one  of  the  walls, 
and  after  one  or  two  turns  in  corridors, 
knocked  at  the  door  of  a  rear  room 
and  were  admitted.  The  room  was 
one  of  the  great  empty  gloomy  cham- 
bers proper  to  the  place  and  the  occa- 
sion. Its  floor  was  matted  instead  of 
carpeted,  though  it  was  winter.  The 
furniture,  which  would  have  been  suffi- 
ciently abundant  and  comfortable  for 
a  small  room,  seemed  like  a  few  for- 
lorn sticks  of  things  neglected  in  a 
vast  lumber-garret.  Only  one  light 
was  burning ;  not  a  gas-light  either, 
but  one  of  those  very  ingenious  pa- 
tent solar  somethings  that  burn  petro- 
leum or  an  extract  of  it,  that  always 
smell  bad.  and  smell  the  worse  as  you 
turn  them  down.  This  one  was  burn- 
ing very  dim  indeed,  and  consequently 
"  smelt  like  fury,"  as  Adrian  couldn't 
help  saying  to  himself.  He  was  des- 
perately tempted  to  ask  Civille  if  it  was 
a  spirit  that  he  smelt.  Indeed,  in  this 
investigation  of  his,  one  of  his  worst 
terrors  was,  the  constant  recurrence 
of  things  that  were  ridiculous,  and 
that  kept  distressing  him  with  stifled 
laughs  and  jokes.  But  he  watched 
his  thoughts  as  closely  as  Christian 
in  passing  through  the  Valley  of  the 
Shadow  of  Death  ;  for  one  jeering 
question  or  observation  would  have 
hopelessly  destroyed  his  whole  enter- 
prise. Of  course  the  funnier  it  was, 
the  harder  it  was  to  be  grave,  and  the 
graver  he  was,  the  funnier  things 
became  ;  and  the  poor  fellow  passed 
through  some  awful  struggles  accord- 
ingly. 

Several  men  and  women  were  sit- 
ting in  silence  round  a  table  at  the 
further  side  of  the  dim  room.  The 
woman  who  had  admitted  them,  recog- 


Scropc  ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


Ill 


nized  Civille,  greeted  her  in  a  quiet 
half-whisper,  and  looked  at  Adrian. 

"My  cousin,  Mr.  Chester,"  explained 
Civille,  also  in  a  low  tone;  "he  is 
much  interested  in  our  inquiries. 
Adrian,  this  is  Mrs.  Babbles." 

Adrian  fell  readily  into  the  solemn 
manner  and  almost  soundless  utter- 
ance which  he  recognized  as  the  con- 
ventional fashion  of  the  place.  How 
could  he  without  impoliteness  do  other- 
wise ?  So  he  briefly  expressed  his 
assent,  and  his  expectations  of  en- 
lightenment. 

"  Come  and  be  seated,"  said  Mrs. 
Babbles.  She  led  them  towards  the 
table,  and  made  room  for  Civille  be- 
tween two  men  and  for  Adrian  a  little 
way  off  between  two  women.  Was 
this  a  precaution  against  any  possible 


conspiracy 


It  is  the  invariable  rule 


to  divide  companies  in  this  way  at 
these  meetings,  at  any  rate. 

The  company,  eight  or  ten  in  num- 
ber, were  sitting  round  the  table,  each 
with  the  right  hand  lying  on  the 
table,  the  left  being  superimposed  on 
the  right  hand  of  the  next  neighbor. 

The  session  occupied  about  an 
hour.  Most  of  this  time  was  occu- 
pied in  gravely  and  earnestly  sitting 
perfectly  still  very  hard  in  the  dark. 
Once  or  twice  the  people  sang  some 
verses,  of  an  indeterminate  hortatory 
kind,  about  loving  and  so  on,  to  such 
old  tunes  as  Balerma  and  Golden 
Hill.  From  time  to  time,  Mrs.  Bab- 
bles, who  seemed  to  be  the  ruler  of 
the  feast,  would  ask  in  a  low  tone, 

"  Is  any  spirit  present  ?  "  "  Does 
any  spirit  wish  to  communicate  with 
us  ?  " 

Adrian  could  not  sing,  as  he  did 
not  know  the  words  used ;  but  he 
could  hear  Civille's  clear  sweet  full 
voice  amidst  the  nasal  head  tones 
that  all  the  rest  of  them  used.  Ever 
and  anon,  in  the  dimness,  one  or  an- 


other of  the  patient  sitters  drew  a 
long  breath,  or  changed  posture.  The 
noises  of  the  street  came  only  muffled 
and  dulled,  to  the  remote  room,  in 
such  a  way  as  almost  to  show  off  and 
heighten  the  silence.  Adrian,  not 
expecting  any  thing  in  particular, 
and  not  very  credulous,  was  however 
imaginative  and  impressible.  The 
darkness  and  silence,  the  mysterious 
expectancy  of  the  rest,  seemed  to 
intensify  his  senses.  More  than  once, 
at  Mrs  Babbles'  questions,  he  fan- 
cied he  heard  some  faint  knocks  or 
snaps  in  the  table  before  him,  or  in 
the  floor  beneath ;  but  he  held  his 
peace ;  no  one  else  seemed  to  hear 
them  ;  he  judged  that  it  was  his  own 
excited  fancy. 

All  at  once  Adrian  was  aware  that 
there  was  a  commotion  within  the 
breast  of  his  left-hand  neighbor,  a 
woman.  She  gave  three  or  four  deep 
and  vigorous  sighs,  almost  groans. 
Then  she  withdrew  her  hand  for  a 
moment  from  under  Adrian's,  and 
smote  her  breast  therewith  repeated- 
ly. Then  she  turned  to  Adrian  and 
spoke  with  awful  solemnity,  but  in 
the  low  voice  which  was  the  rule  : 

"  I  have  a  communication  for  you." 

"  It  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to 
receive  it,"  murmured  the  favored 
youth,  with  equal  gravity. 

"  I  am  impressed,"  continued  the 
fair  speaker,  "  that  you  are  in  near 
relations  with  the  lady  who  came 
with  you." 

"  That's  very  extraordinarjr,"  an- 
swered Adrian,  throwing  into  his 
voice  a  tone  of  as  much  astonishment 
as  he  could  assume —  "very  extraor- 
dinary, indeed.  We  are  cousins  — 
not  very  near  though,  and  we  like 
each  other  very  much." 

This  was  a  sufficiently  presumptu- 
ous claim,  no  doubt,  in  its  assertion 
as   to   Civille's   sentiments ;  but   the 


112 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


artful  young  man  had  on  the  moment 
conceived  the  wicked  idea  of  furnish- 
ing the  medium  a  hint  for  more  rev- 
elations, just  to  see  how  it  would 
York. 

"  Yes,"  resumed  the  medium,  with 
a  self-satisfied  manner,  "  all  commu- 
nications from  the  spirit-land  through 
me  have  always  been  perfectly  relia- 
ble. I  have  great  power  of  discern- 
ing truth.  You  would  try  in  vain  to 
conceal  it  from  me.  I  am  impressed 
that  you  are  to  be  very  happy  with 
your  chosen  companion." 

"  That  is  a  very  pleasant  message,' 
observed  Adrian,  gravely,  but  amused 
at  the  success  of  his  little  trick.  He 
did  not  notify  the  seeress  that  his 
chosen  companion  was  Miss  Ann 
Button. 

As  no  further  messages  or  manifes- 
tations could  be  coaxed  from  the  spirit- 
land,  the  chief  priestess  after  a  time 
suggested  that  as  the  conditions  were 
in  that  respect  apparently  unfavora- 
ble, the  exercises  of  the  occasion 
should  be  varied. 

"  Many  lovely  things  "  observed 
Mrs.  Babbles,  with  seriousness,  "  have 
already  come  to  us  through  inspiration 
in  the  trance  state.  It  has  been  strong- 
ly impressed  upon  me,  to-day,  that 
such  revelations  are  now  about  us,  and 
are  awaiting  a  suitable  medium.  Per- 
haps our  dear  friend  Miss  Van  Braam, 
will  consent  to  permit  any  communi- 
cations which  may  be  offered  through 
her  ?  Professor  Pawson  Clawson  said 
Miss  Van  Braam  was  a  seer  already. 
I  am  sure  she  will  not  refuse  to  help 
forward  the  great  cause  ?  " 

Civille,  slowly,  and,  Adrian  thought 
reluctantly,  arose  from  her  place  at  the 
table,  and  took  an  arm-chair  which 
Mrs.  Babbles  placed  for  her,  and  a 
little  more  light  was  now  turned  on. 
One  of  the  two  men  between  whom 
Civille  had  been  sitting,  a  big  fellow 


with  a  red  face  and  straight  hair,  got 
up,  somewhat  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of 
course,"  placed  a  chair  before  Civille, 
and  seating  himself  in  it,  would  have 
taken  her  hands.  She  however  looked 
to  Mrs.  Babbles  and  then  toward  Adri- 
an, saying, 

"  I  prefer  my  cousin,  Mrs.  Bab- 
bles." 

The  big  man  rose  up  readily  enough. 
Adrian  had  experienced  a  pretty  sharp 
shock  of  anger  at  the  idea  of  this  rath- 
er greasy-looking  person  touching  Ci- 
ville, and  he  was  extremely  pleased  to 
find  that  she  felt  the  same  prejudice. 
It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  he  him- 
self took  a  liberty  in  touching  her. 
Pew  people  reason  in  that  way.  The 
definition  of  right  and  wrong  which 
the  Bushman  chief  gave  to  his  cate- 
chising spiritual  father  the  missionary 

—  net  result  of  many  anxious  lessons 

—  is  more  or  less  the  rule  for  most  of 
us —  "  It  is  wrong  for  another  man  to 
take  away  my  wives  ;  it  is  right  for  me 
to  take  away  his." 

Adrian  sat  down,  and  under  the 
instructions  of  the  experienced  Mrs. 
Babbles,  first  made  a  few  magnetic 
passes  from  Civille's  forehead,  down 
her  arms ;  and  then  took  her  hands  in 
his,  crossing  arms  however,  so  that 
right  held  right  and  left  left.  The 
grasp  which  he  was  shown  is  peculiar ; 
thumb  is  laid  against  thumb,  and  the 
fingers  of  each  hand  clasped  over  the 
other,  lying  across  its  back,  so  that 
the  palms  are  firmly  pressed  together, 
as  magnetic  surfaces. 

"  "What  am  I  to  do  ?  "  asked  Adri- 
an ;   "  do  I  make  no  motions  ?  " 

'( No ;  sit  still,  and  be  perfectly 
calm,"  said  Mrs.  Babbles  ;  "  let  your 
thoughts  be  concentrated  upon  the 
subject,  and  your  will  be  firm  and  stea- 
dy that  she  shall  pass  under  your  con- 
trol, and  sleep.  Look  steadily  at  the 
point  between  her  eyebrows.     And  let 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


113 


your  thoughts  be  kind  and  well  wish- 
ing ;  and  be  open  to  all  good  influen- 
ces from  any  spirits  that  may  be  near 
you;  in  a  peaceful  harmony  with  the 
universe  around." 

Adrian  did  so.  It  was  easy  enough 
to  wish  well  to  the  spiritual  and  love- 
ly girl  who  reclined  before  him.  As 
if  any  human  being  could  wish  her 
otherwise  than  well!  he  said  to  him- 
self. 

So  he  collected  his  consciousness, 
and  substituted  for  the  ordinary  swift 
successions  of  his  thoughts,  one  single 
quiet,  but  steady  and  concentrated 
volition.  "  Sleep,  Civille  !  "  he  con- 
tinuously willed. 

The  others  sat  around  in  silence,  or 
with  a  few  scarcely  audible  words,  now 
and  then.  Adrian,  although  he  pro- 
jected—  so  to  speak  —  much  of  his 
conscious  life  in  the  effort  of  will  which 
he  directed  toward  his  lovely  cousin, 
yet  had  abundance  of  consciousness 
left  to  consider  the  situation  in  which 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  found 
himself:  close  to  a  singularly  attractive 
young  woman,  in  actual  contact  with 
her  person,  and  aware  that  she  was 
deliberately  surrendering  herself  to 
him,  to  receive  his  commands,  to  do 
his  will,  to  obey  him.  For  a  few  mo- 
ments, the  large  soft  pathetic  deep 
gray  eyes  looked  straight  into  the 
strong  clear  blue  ones.  Then,  while 
Adrian  looked,  very  slowly, very  steadi- 
ly, under  his  gaze  the  translucent 
white  lids  floated  downward  over  iris 
and  eye,  and  were  sealed  shut.  Civille 
smiled  faintly,  and  with  a  little  sigh 
and  a  nestling  movement  laid  her 
head  upon  the  back  of  the  chair  ;  she 
whispered,  "  I'm  so  sleepy  !  "  and  was 
silent :  and  then  her  breathing  became 
regular,  like  a  pulse,  and  with  the 
smile  still  on  her  lips,  she  was  asleep. 

Is  this  magnetizing  ?  Adrian  asked 
himself  —  it  is  more  like  being  mag- 


netized!—  for  a  feeling  utterly  new 
to  him  —  such  as  he  had  never 
dreamed  could  exist  in  any  one,  or  for 
any  thing,  —  a  warm  living  breath, 
as  it  seemed,  but  it  was  a  deep  throb 
of  emotion  too,  swept  over  him  or 
around  him,  as  if  from  some  infi- 
nite depth ;  or  it  was  as  if  he  felt 
that  in  those  moments  his  own  life 
budded  and  bloomed  as  a  flower  be- 
fore his  eyes,  into  its  perfect  opening. 
"  What  excess  of  sweetness,"  the  feel- 
ing was  —  for  it  could  not  reach  words, 
nor  be  contained  in  them  —  li  What 
excess  of  sweetness,  to  be  permitted 
so  near  to  one  so  lovely  ! "  Nor  was 
that  all ;  for  even  while  he  felt  this 
ineffable  influx,  as  it  seemed  to  him, 
from  some  unheard-of  spiritual  Eden>. 
from  a  yet  farther  distance,,  from*  a 
depth  infinitely  within  that  other 
depth,  a  still  profounder  throb,  a  still 
more  moving  emotion,  a  still  lovelier 
consciousness  opened  and  bloomed  and 
arose  upon  or  around  or  within  him 
—  "  We  are  one  ! "  was  this  thought. 
And  for  the  time  being,  it  was  assur- 
edly so.  The  magnetic  union  is  even 
mystically  perfect.  It  required  a  na- 
ture as  intuitional  as  Adrian's,  how- 
ever, to  feel  it  so  instantly  and  so  fully. 

But  it  was  not  his  office  to  experi- 
ence emotions  or  delight  himself  in 
dreams  of  his  own ;  and  with  a  reso- 
lute effort  he  directed  his  mind  as 
wholly  as  he  could  to  the  beautiful 
passive  girl  before  him,  and  away 
from  his  own  consciousnesses.  Per- 
haps ten  minutes  passed  in  this  si- 
lence, the  soft  pulses  of  the  joined 
hands  throbbing  against  each  other 
until  Adrian  fancied  that  streams  of 
vital  force  intermingled  and  ex- 
changed through  the  magic  ring  of 
their  arms  almost  as  perceptibly  as 
running  water. 

"Ask  her  if  she  is  asleep,"  said 
Mrs.  Babbles,  softly. 


114 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


"  Are  you  asleep,  Civille  ?  " 

There  was  an  effort  to  speak;  but 
the  delicate  lips  framed  no  distinct 
word.  In  a  few  moments  more  how- 
ever, repeating  the  question,  enforced 
with  a  special  volition  and  command 
to  reply,  an  articulate  "  Yes "  was 
given,  and  the  sensitive  was  fully  en 
■rapport  with  the  magnetizer;  sur- 
prisingly fully,  considering  the  short 
time  and  extent  of  their  magnetic 
relation.  A  number  of  questions  were 
suggested  by  the  company,  put  by 
Adrian,  and  answered  with  more  or 
less  coherence  by  Civille.  They  were 
sufficiently  commonplace  ;  —  Were 
there  any  spirits  about  ?  What  sphere 
had  she  got  into?  What  is  old 
Mr.  Brown  doing  now,  at  No.  666 
Eleventh  Avenue?  Can  you  go  to 
Europe  ?  to  the  North  Pole  ?  What 
are  the  prospects  of  the  Cause  ?  Adri- 
an couldn't  help  thinking  that  his 
charming  victim  —  for  the  feeling  that 
she  was  helpless,  a  victim,  kept  com- 
ing up  in  his  mind, — showed  ex- 
cellent good  sense  in  her  replies;  for 
they  were  little,  except  "  I  can't  see  ; 
it  is  all  cloudy;  there  is  somebod}', 
that  I  don't  recognize;  it  is  cold;" 
and  so  on ;  for,  he  said  to  himself,  I 
should  have  said  just  about  the  same  ! 
But  the  company  were  still  more 
edified ;  for,  Mrs.  Babbles  said,  it  was 
beyond  all  expectation  that  in  so 
short  a  time  any  one  should  become 
so  strongly  clairvoyant ;  and  the  sub- 
ject, she  observed,  would  obviously 
very  soon  become  an  independent  clair- 
voyant investigator. 

"  Independent  how  ?"  asked  Adrian. 

"  Can  go  into  the  trance  state  by 
herself,  whenever  she  wishes,"'  was 
the  reply.  "  You  are  so  good  a  mag- 
netizer, and  your  magnetism  is  so  con- 
genial, that  you  will  carry  her  forward 
very  rapidly." 

Now  while  these  vague  or  merely 


curious  questions  were  being  put,  some 
others  all  at  once  occurred  to  Adrian, 
which  he  proceeded  to  put  for  him- 
self, and  to  which  he  received  answers 
unexpectedly  definite.  It  was  rea- 
sonable to  suppose,  Adrian  however 
reflected,  that  these  questions,  being 
put  with  a  vivid  actual  interest  of  the 
asker's  own,  may  have  carried  a  great 
deal  more  power  with  them  for  that 
reason,  and  thus  may  have  evoked  a 
corresponding  exertion  of  mind  in  the 
clairvoyant.  Still,  the  replies,  though 
remarkably  pat  and  terse  in  wording, 
were  articulated  in  a  slow  difficult  way, 
as  if  the  speaker  were  impeded  or 
weighed  down  or  held  back. 

"  A  business  offer  has  been  made  to 
me,"  asked  Adrian.  "  Shall  I  accept 
it?" 

"  No." 

''  I  am  interested  about  another  bus- 
iness matter,  involving  much  money 
abroad.     Will  it  succeed  ?  " 

"No  money  will  come." 

Then  the  thought  occurred  to  Adri- 
an —  if  he  could  veil  his  questions  so 
as  to  be  safe  before  these  strangers, 
to  ask  his  prophetess  about  matters  of 
far  other  importance  than  even  the 
great  Mr.  Button's  publication  busi- 
ness, or  the  vast  Scrope  Estate  in 
England. 

"  There  is  still  another  matter  in 
which  I  am  interested,  along  with  a 
person  who  is  concerned  with  both 
those  other  affairs.  That  person  I 
dreamed  about,  Wednesday  night." 

"  Can't  catch  you  !  " 

At  this  reply,  which  was  not  so  much 
an  answer  to  any  thing  at  the  mo- 
ment in  Adrian's  conscious  thoughts, 
as  it  was  a  solution  to  the  excessively 
disagreeable  problem  of  his  dream 
about  being  chased  by  Miss  Button, 
Adrian  was  much  startled.  But  he 
asked  again,  with  a  distinct  sense  of 
running  a  risk : 


Scrope  ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


115 


"  Some  one  has  been  stealing. 
Who  is  it  ?  " 

"  The  other  one." 

Adrian  could  make  nothing  out  of 
this ;  the  very  clerk  who  had  de- 
nounced her,  it  might  mean  —  or  the 
very  detective  who  was  shadowing 
her.  But  in  spite  of  him  these  four 
answers  delivered  in  the  slow  calm 
way,  and  with  the  delaying  articula- 
tion of  the  magnetic  sleep,  impressed 
him  exceedingly.  He  could  not  help 
a  conviction  that  they  might,  whether 
or  not  they  actually  did,  convey 
knowledge  from  some  source  or  by 
some  channel  other  than  the  ordinary 
ones.  But  he  judged  it  not  best  to 
venture  any  further;  and  so  he  let  go 
of  his  cousin's  hands,  and  after  leav- 
ing her  alone  for  a  few  moments,  sum- 
moned her  out  of  her  sleep  by  the 
usual  mode  of  reversed  passes.  After 
congratulations  from  the  company, 
Adrian  and  Civille  took  leave,  as  they 
had  still  to  visit  the  Philosopher  of 
the  Germ,  and  devote  another  hour 
to  investigating  the  New  Universe. 
Does  a  truly  philosophic  mind  require 
more  than  an  hour  to  investigate  a 
universe  ? 

They  reached  the  abode  of  the  great 
and  philosophic  being  whom  they  were 
to  meet,  without  difficulty,  Civille, 
to  Adrian's  pleasure,  and  somewhat  to 
his  surprise,  saying  in  reply  to  an 
inquiry,  that  she  was  not  only  not 
fatigued,  but  refreshed  rather,  by  her 
excursion  into  dreamland.  And  she 
inquired  in  turn  if  he  were  not  tired 
in  consequence  of  sending  her  thither. 
No,  not  at  all. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Great  and  exceptional  souls  natu- 
rally gather  into  great  and  exceptional 
communities.  Where  vast  numbers 
of  human  beings  are  crowded,  heaped, 


rammed  together  as  the  enormous 
forces  of  human  passions  and  pursuits 
drive  and  compress  them  in  great 
cities,  there  are  stirring  the  immense 
powers  that  great  administrative 
minds  love  to  wield,  there  are  living 
the  inquiring  and  waiting  souls  that 
great  teachers  yearn  to  instruct,  there 
are  heaped  and  heaping  treasures  such 
as  the  ambitious  merchant  longs  to 
amass,  which  the  ambitious  thief  or 
gambler  or  stock-speculator  longs  to 
get  away  from  somebody  else.  Napo- 
leon, Cuvier,  Laffitte,  Cartouche,  each 
could  not  but  come  to  Paris.  Roths- 
child, Carlyle,  Miller,  Zadkiel,  could 
not  but  reside  in  London.  And  Astor 
and  Stewart,  or  Jacob  Little  and  James 
Fisk,  Horace  Greeley  or  Bill  Tweed, 
Doctor  Brandreth  or  Mr.  Vanderbilt, 
Mr.  Barnum  or  Mr.  Tarbox  Button, 
or  that  great  and  profound  genius  S. 
P.  Quinby  Anketell,  A.M.,  the  Elu- 
cidator  of  the  New  Universe,  could  not 
but  live  in  New  York.  The  vaster 
the  ambition,  the  loftier  or  more  strange 
the  doctrine,  in  like  proportion  is  it 
more  indispensable  that  it  come  to 
the  great  city.  If  your  teachings  can 
be  received  by  only  one  soul  in  a 
thousand,  then  in  a  whole  state  of  a 
million  of  population  you  could  have 
but  a  thousand  followers,  and  you  can 
neither  find  them  nor  assemble  them. 
But  in  a  city  of  a  million,  they  can  all 
meet  you  any  evening.  Mr.  Anketell 
was  therefore  most  of  all  impelled  to 
come  to  New  York ;  for  his  views 
were  —  if  there  is  any  truth  in  arith- 
metic —  one  hundred  times  as  vast  as 
any  just  referred  to.  For  the  Anke- 
tellicalists  were  at  the  time  of  Adrian's 
visit  not  over  about  ten  in  number. 
New  York  is  reckoned  —  suburbs  and 
all  —  at  a  million  souls.  Hence,  it  is 
obvious,  Mr.  Anketell  could  find  but 
one  mind  in  a  hundred  thousand,  in- 
stead of  one  in  a  thousand,  that  was 


116 


Scrope  ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


able  to  receive  his  doctrine  ;  he  was 
accordingly  exactly  a  hundred-fold 
the  more  pressed  and  driven  into  New 
York.  Could  reasoning  he  more  con- 
clusive ? 

Mr.  Anketell's  residence  was  a  re- 
spectable-looking house  on  a  cross 
street,  not  very  far  from  Madison 
Square,  and  between  Madison  and 
Fourth  Avenues.  It  was  what  is  called 
an  "  English  basement  "  house,  having 
a  door  only  one  step  above  the  sidewalk 
instead  of  at  the  top  of  a  long  flight 
of  steps,  and  having  within  this  door 
a  small  sitting-room  at  the  front, 
while  the  hall  led  past  it  back  to  the 
stairs,  and  past  them  to  a  larger  room 
filling  the  rear  half  of  the  ground 
floor.  This  was  occupied  at  present 
as  a  dining-room  and  sitting-room 
both;  for  the  exigencies  of  the  cause 
to  which  Mr.  Anketell  was  devoting 
his  life  had  at  the  moment  somewhat 
crowded  the  establishment.  To  tell 
the  truth,  besides  the  philosopher's 
own  family,  he  was  at  present  pre- 
siding over  the  whole  band  of  his 
declared  followers,  assembled  within 
his  household. 

"S.  P.  Quinby  Anketell,"  read 
Adrian  as  they  reached  the  door  — 
"  S.  P.  Q.  A.  —  Senatus  Populus  Que 
Americanus.  Not  a  bad  set  of  initials 
for  the  leader  of  such  a  movement  as 
this."  —  And  between  the  ringing  of 
the  bell  and  the  opening  of  the  door 
he  told  Civille  of  a  sign  he  remem- 
bered to  have  seen  at  a  silversmith's 
in  Fulton  Street.  Its  four  initials, 
the  mighty  ancient  quaternion  of  S. 
P.  Q.  R.  had  attracted  him ;  but  on 
approaching,  instead  of  the  sonorous 
"  Senatus  Populus  Que  Romanus," 
he  found  the  practical  business  an- 
nouncement "  Silver  Plate  Quickly 
Repaired."  "  It  was  like  the  dust  of 
Alexander  stopping  a  beer-barrel,"  he 
said.     But  after  his  fashion,  he  irrev- 


erently figured  to  himself  another 
meaning  for  Mr.  Anketell's  initials, 
but  which  he  did  not  think  proper  to 
repeat  to  his  companion,  nor,  —  he 
hoped  —  must  she  necessarily  be  re- 
ferred to  in  the  same.  This  was, 
"Silly  People  Quickly  Attracted." 

While  he  moralized,  they  were 
shown  into  the  waiting-room,  and 
asked  to  sit  for  a  few  minutes. 
Adrian  improved  the  occasion  to  ask 
Civille  about  the  position  of  Mr. 
Anketell's  doctrines  as  related  to  those 
of  Spiritism. 

"  Anketellicalism,"  answered  the 
young  lady,  with  the  exceeding  funny 
gravity  of  a  young  lady's  metaphysi- 
cal utterances,  "neither  asserts  nor 
denies.  It  includes  and  reconciles  all 
other  beliefs.  Its  roots  are  so  much 
deeper  than  any,  that  from  it  they 
ean  all  be  traced,  and  by  it  can  all 
be  explained  and  combined." 

"Then  it  goes  yet  deeper,"  com- 
mented Adrian,  "  than  the  famous 
preacher's  statement  that '  every  great 
truth  is  composed  of  two  incompatible 
extremes  '  ?  " 

"I  never  heard  that  thought,"  said 
Civille.  "But  it  is  Mr.  Anketell's. 
All  truth  is  his." 

"Well,"  said  Adrian,  "yes.  All 
truth  is  every  man's.  In  that  wealth, 
monopoly  is  not  to  be  feared ;  we 
may  all  amass  our  utmost.  So  that 
even  Napoleon's  saying  of  '  The  tools 
to  him  that  can  use  them,'  loses  its 
bad  meaning  if  truths  are  the  tools- 
Then  one  can  believe  in  the  spirit 
doctrines  and  in  Mr.  Anketell's  too  ?  " 
"Wlvv,  of  course,"  said  the  young 
lady;  "but  they  are  truths  —  facts 
—  not  doctrines.  But  let  him  tell 
you  himself,"  she  added,  for  steps 
approached,  and  a  tall  man  entered 
from  the  rear  room. 

"  My  dearest  child,"  he  said,  in  a 
solemn  clear  voice,  "  welcome.     The 


Scrope ;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


117 


spirit  of  the  place  lacked  you."  And 
taking  her  hand,  he  pressed  it;  and 
held  it,  as  Adrian  observed,  longer 
than  was  absolutely  necessary. 

Civille  introduced  Adrian,  as  her 
cousin,  and  a  sincere  inquirer  after 
new  truth. 

"  Most  rejoiced  to  receive  you,"  said 
Mr.  Anketell,  in  the  same  solemn  clear 
voice.  "  But,  my  child,"  —  he  turned 
to  Civille,  "there  is  no  new  truth. 
All  truth  is  eternal;  without  begin- 
ning or  end." 

"  But,"  suggested  Adrian,  "  until 
our  existence  becomes  unconditional, 
we  must  use  conditioned  words,  must 
we  not  ?  Is  it  not  practically  correct, 
therefore,  to  have  a  word  '  new  '  ? 
It  means,  as  to  truths,  not  truths 
just  manufactured,  but  truths  just 
found ;  —  New  to  me,  if  I  never  found 
them  before  ?  " 

While  Adrian  spoke,  he  and  Mr. 
Anketell  looked  straight  into  each 
other's  eyes.  The  great  Reformer 
was  a  tall  and  rather  slender  person, 
decently  enough  clad  in  black,  fair, 
with  light  blue  watchful  ej'es,  a  blood- 
less face,  a  sharp  high  projecting 
forehead,  thin  features,  intelligent 
enough,  marked  with  thought,  and 
with  a  look  of  preternatural  gravity. 
Adrian,  summing  him  up  in  his  swift 
intuitional  way,  felt,  rather  than 
thought,  that  he  disliked  him.  But 
this  may  have  been  because  the  Re- 
former was  so  very  paternal  with 
Civille.  However,  the  watchful  face 
smiled  as  Adrian  ended,  and  the  great 
thinker  condescended  to  approve. 

aAh  !  "  he  said,  "this  is  a  singu- 
larly acute  mind.  A  just  distinction. 
But  the  New  Language  —  which  Mr. 
Jobraker  is  advocating  in  my  behalf, 
will  obviate  such  questions.  My  new 
categories  of  thought  and  speech  will 
forever  prevent  any  confusion  be- 
tween the  absolute  and  the  relative. 


One  word  per  thought,  —  one  thought 
per  word." 

"  Ah,"  said  Adrian,  "  Then  the  new 
language  is  yours  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  assented  Mr.  Anketell,  with 
visible  unobtrusiveness  —  "  merely 
one  of  the  departments  of  the  New 
Universe.  But,  my  young  friends, 
The  Germ  was  upon  development 
when  you  rang.  Come  in  and  take 
part  in  our  little  conference.  I  was 
just  setting  forth  the  sum  of  the 
New  Universe,  as  it  reached  me  this 
morning  at  half  past  ten  precisely. 
I  have  improved  two  epithets  and  a 
definition  since  last  week." 

And  while  Adrian  considered  briefly 
within  himself,  how  deep  and  broad  a 
Universe  that  could  be  which  two 
epithets  and  a  definition  could  im- 
prove, Mr.  Anketell  showed  them  into 
the  dining  room,  where,  around  the 
extension  table  —  now  only  set  with  a 
common  red  damask  cover  on  which 
lay  a  few  papers  and  writing  materials 
—  sat  the  whole  strength  of  the 
company,  so  to  speak :  a  whole  New 
Universe  in  one  dingy  back  room. 
Such  is  the  concentrative  might  of 
Mind! 

The  little  band  who  were  here  incu- 
bating,—  if  one  may  say  so  —  upon 
the  Egg  of  the  Future,  seemed  to 
Adrian,  glancing  round  the  room  as 
he  took  his  seat,  like  a  rarefied  ex- 
tract of  the  Solidarite  de  V Avenir. 
Indeed,  most  if  not  all  of  them  were 
members  of  that  extremely  respectable 
body.  The  chief  difference  between  the 
two  assemblages  was  in  their  spirit ; 
for  while  the  units  of  the  Solid  a  rite 
were  even  ludicrously  centrifugal  in 
their  tendency,  there  was  evident 
here  an  equally  predominant  spirit 
of  perfectly  unconditional  acquiescent 
discipleship.  The  two  conditions  may 
just  as  well  co-exist  in  the  same  mind 
as  the  uproar  of  the  boys  in  recess, 


118 


JScrop 


e:  or, 


The  Lost  Library. 


along  with  their  stillness  in  school- 
hours. 

Mr.  Anketell  took  a  chair  at  one 
end  of  the  tahle. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said,  with  his  grave 
manner  and  clear  articulation  "  Mr. 
Morue  will  read  my  summary  once 
more  from  the  beginning.  "We  have 
a  new  friend  on  this  occasion ;  and  it 
is  well  that  Miss  Van  Braam  should 
receive  the  new  statement  as  com- 
pleted. Great  things  depend  upon  it, 
and  upon  her." 

Mr.  Morue,  a  good  looking  young 
fellow  with  a  sweet  expression  and 
fine  soft  dark  eyes,  bowed  and  com- 
plied. The  statements  which  he  read 
contained  very  much  that  was  —  but 
is  it  not  impertinent  to  assume  to 
praise  such  things  ?  Let  a  few  sen- 
tences suffice ;  and  write  for  circular 
containing  summary  of  the  New  Uni- 
verse, to  S.  P.  Quinby  Anketell,  New 
York  City,  enclosing  Fifty  cents. 

MR.    MORUE's    READING. 

All  that  exists  is  either  Action  or 
Result. 

This  is  true  throughout  the  Uni- 
verse. 

Therefore  it  is  true  in  symbol  as 
well  as  in  fact. 

Voice  is  a  symbol  of  fact. 

In  Voice  the  sound  is  Action ;  it 
terminates  in  Result. 

Therefore  all  Language  falls  into 
these  two : 

1.   Sound.     2.  Stop. 

The  first,  because  the  easiest  of  all 
possible  Sounds  is  the  open  Ah !  — 
when  the  mouth  opens,  and  we  vocal- 
ize. The  first  of  all  possible  stops  is 
>m  !  —  when  the  mouth  shuts  and  we 
are  silent. 

We  have  therefore  the  One  Eternal 
Word: 

AHM  ! 

(This   the   speaker  vocalized  with 


much  power,  giving  a  good  broad 
long  Ah !  and  bringing  his  lips  to- 
gether with  almost  a  slap  at  the 
end.) 

As  a  single  instance  corroborative, 
take  the  Sacred  Syllable  of  the  plu- 
rality of  worshipping  humanity,  the 
Buddhists'— Om! 

All  the  rest  of  Real  Language  must 
of  necessity  be  developed  from  this 
one  word,  by  modifications.  These 
are  of  course  only  such  as  the  vocal 
organs  can  supply. 

Here  the  reader  gave  a  carefully 
arranged  series  of  modifications,  such 
as : 

1.  Of  the  Vowel :  ee'm !  au'm ! 
oo'm  ! 

2.  Of  the  Consonant:  ah'p  !  ah'f! 
ah'g! 

3.  Of  the  Effort :  ahbabah'm  !  ah- 
gagah'g ! 

And  he  briefly  showed  the  infinite 
number  of  combinations  —  that  is, 
of  words,  deducible  from  this  single 
syllable  ;  which  must  include  not  only 
all  the  existing  words  of  the  present 
languages  —  collectively  termed  the 
Scatterary  or  Inartistic  —  but  that 
inexhaustible  remainder  of  vocables 
on  which  the  New  Universal  Lan- 
guage can  draw  at  sight  and  without 
end  for  expression  of  the  whole  New 
Universe  of  Ideas. 

The  Name  of  the  New  Language  is 
that  which  could  not  but  arise  in  the 
rightly  constituted  mind.  It  em- 
bodies beginning,  sound,  end,  thus : 


And  for  instance  corroborative  of 
the  justness  of  the  choice,  observe 
that  this  name  embodies  the  first  call 
of  the  human  being  to  its  mother,  and 
the  accepted  expression  of  the  man's 
reverence  for  the  woman. 


With  like  reasonings  and  illustra- 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


119 


tions  did  the  exposition  proceed.  As 
the  first  part,  that  relating  to  lan- 
guage, drew  to  a  close,  Mr.  Anketell 
spoke  a  few  words  aside  to  Civille, 
and  both,  arising,  disappeared  into  the 
small  ante-room.  Mr.  Morue  went 
on,  explaining  that  the  only  emenda- 
tions had  now  been  read,  and  that  the 
Teacher  was  not  required  for  the  rest, 
which  he  should  however  repeat 
"chiefly"  he  said,  "for  inculcation." 
This  was  however  if  any  thing  still 
more  interesting  to  our  neophyte 
Adrian  tban  what  had  preceded  it ; 
for  it  contained  the  explanation  of  the 
development,  not  merely  of  sound  or 
language,  but  successively  of  Matter, 
Life,  Thought,  Society,  and  Perfec- 
tion. This  whole  system,  thus  set 
forth,  constituted  the  New  Universe. 
No  considerations  but  those  of  Space 
and  Time  prevent  their  being  here 
given  in  full.  At  present  (the  state- 
ment went  on),  men  are  scarcely  ad- 
vanced beyond  that  base  and  sordid 
condition  of  scattered  life  in  disjunct 
item,  which  the  pre-Anketellical  but 
only  half-enlightened  Fourier  so  well 
designated  by  calling  them  "  misera- 
ble civilizees."  Even  in  the  dawn  of 
our  New  Universe,  even  in  the  first 
unfolding  of  The  Germ,  must  we 
make  allowances  for  the  weakness,  for 
the  unwisdom,  for  the  slavishness  of 
mind,  so  long  locked  down  upon  the 
ages :  even  the  New  Universe  itself 
must  not  clash  too  violently  with  the 
recognized  forms  of  thought  and  feel- 
ing. The  old  religions,  as  well  as  the 
old  political  and  social  conditions, 
will  swiftly  fade  as  our  dawn  opens 
into  the  coming  day.  Yet  the  wise 
Teacher  ordains  not  to  diverge  too 
far,  and  he  chooses  for  the  present 
name  of  the  New  System,  one  which 
shall  express  his  Greatest  Discovery, 
the  Identity  of  All  Forces  by  the  mar- 
riage of  the  Material  with  the  Divine. 


I  have  thus  revealed  to  you  the 
Elements,  —  the  reader  ended,  —  of 
the  New  Universe  :  Let  its  Spirit  re- 
ceive the  New  Baptism  :  what  Anke- 
tell teaches  —  what  the  Anketellical- 
ists  believe  and  propagate,  let  them, 
until  the  New  Language  shall  afford 
its  full  and  real  and  mysteriously 
significant  name,  mention  and  pro- 
claim abroad  as 

ELECTRO-CHRISTIANITY  ! 

At  this  magnificent  climax  there 
was  quite  a  sound  of  delighted  ap- 
plause, and  some  offered  thanks  to 
Mr.  Morue,  while  others  eagerly  en- 
tered into  discussions  on  the  many 
questions  that  every  one  can  see  aris- 
ing from  these  immensely  fruitful 
propositions.  In  the  midst  of  this 
happy  excitement,  Adrian,  who  was 
sitting  with  his  back  towards  the  door 
where  they  had  come  in,  heard  a 
quick  step,  a  rustle  of  garments  ;  a 
hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder,  and 
Civille,  in  a  gasping  whisper,  said  in 
his  ear, 

"  0  Adrian,  take  me  away  quick !  " 
Astonished  beyond  measure,  the 
young  man  sprang  up  and  turned  to 
look  at  his  cousin.  Such  a  frozen 
white  horrified  face !  It  was  fright, 
grief,  indignation,  all  awful  pain  in 
one.  Without  another  word,  she 
stepped  to  the  door  leading  not  to  the 
ante-room,  but  to  the  hall,  and  so 
towards  the  outer  door.  Adrian, 
with  an  indistinct  feeling  as  if  mur- 
der had  been  done,  but  without  a 
word,  hurried  after  her.  So  swift 
were  their  motions  that  they  were 
both  out  of  the  room  before  the 
stream  of  chattering  congratulatory 
talk  could  fairly  subside.  As  Adrian 
got  into  the  hall,  Civille  had  already 
reached  the  front  door,  and  was  hur- 
riedly endeavoring  to  open  it.  At 
this  moment,  the  great  Mr.  Anketell 


120 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


appeared  from  the  hall-door  of  the 
little  ante-room,  looking,  as  nearly  as 
Adrian  could  see  in  the  rather  weak 
gas-light,  somewhat  flustered  for  a 
philosophic  teacher.  He  went  straight 
to  Civille,  without  observing  Adrian, 
and  promptly  putting  one  arm  round 
her  waist,  said, 

"You  mistake  entirely.  Come 
back  a  moment." 

"  No  !  "  she  said  vigorously,  "  I 
don't  mistake  !  Let  go  !  "  And  she 
gave  him  a  push.  Adrian  gave  him 
something  more  effectual  —  a  tremen- 
dous straight  right-hand  hit  under  the 
left  ear,  that  lifted  him  with  a  bang 
against  the  door,  and  then  dropped 
him  in  a  limp  heap  on  the  carpet. 
With  one  jerk  the  angry  fellow  slung 
the  Great  Teacher  backward  into  the 
hall,  just  as  one  or  two  startled  disci- 
ples opened  the  door  of  the  dining 
room. 

"  Pick  up  that  dirty  dog  !  "  he  said  : 
and  opening  the  front  door,  he  hurried 
his  cousin  out.  She  had  kept  on  her 
bonnet,  and  he  had  as  it  happened 
kept  his  liat  with  him,  so  that  they 
made  no  unconventional  display  in 
the  street. 

The  night  was  bright  and  cold,  and 
patches  of  a  slight  snow  that  had 
fallen  in  the  morning,  were  still  pure 
and  white  in  corners  along  the  side- 
walk. Adrian  felt  Civille  grow  heavy 
on  his  arm. 

"  Don't  faint,"  he  said,  and  snatch- 
ing up  a  handful  of  clean  snow,  laid 
it  promptly  on  her  forehead.  The 
shock,  along  with  her  own  keen  reso- 
lute will,  helped  her. 

"  I  won't,"  said  she,  with  her  teeth 
set  tight  —  and  she  didn't.  But  it 
was  a  pretty  near  thing.  An  empty 
hack  drove  by,  and  Adrian,  hailing  it, 
took  Civille  directly  home.  She  sat 
silent  the  whole  way,  leaning  back  as 
if  exhausted;  and  Adrian,  though  he 


thought  industriously,  said  not  a 
word. 

When  they  reached  the  old  shabby 
white  house  it  was  quite  late,  and  no 
light  was  visible  except  a  dim  one 
through  the  front  door  fanlight.  The 
door  however,  as  it  appeared  on  trying 
it,  was  to  their  surprise  not  fast. 
They  entered  the  hall  together  ;  —  for 
Adrian  thought  best  to  see  that  noth- 
ing was  wrong.  A  female  form  arose 
from  a  chair  at  one  side  of  the  hall 
and  came  forward,  bearing  a  bundle. 

"Who's  that? "said  Civille,  star- 
tled. 

"It's  me,  'm,"  said  a  sharp  voice. 

"  Why,  Katy,  what  are  you  up 
for?" 

"  Yis'm,  I  think  as  much,"  was  the 
reply,  with  obvious  wrath.  —  "  Misther 
Van  Bram  he  says  he  was  tired  out, 
and  I  was  to  set  up  for  yez,  and  he's 
gone  to  bed  sure,  and  I've  done  it, 
haven't  I  ?  " 

"You  have,  I  should  think,"  said 
Civille,  gravely. 

"An  good  night  to  yez,  'm.  I 
didn't  hire  out  for  a  watchman  at  all, 
so  I  didn't !  " 

And  the  enraged  Irishwoman  made 
for  the  front  door,  with  the  energy  — 
and  reason — of  one  million  Fenians. 

"Why,"  said  Civille,  "you  only 
came  this  noon.  My  father's  old;  he 
didn't  know." 

"And  sure  he'll  know  next  time 
thin  ! " 

"  Hold  on,"  interposed  Adrian 
sternly;  "let's  see  what  you're  carry- 
ing off  there  ! " 

"An  it's  a  woman's  duds,  sorr. 
There ;  will  ye  plaze  examine ! " 
With  fingers  that  shook  in  an  extraor- 
dinary access  of  fury,  she  untied  her 
bundle  and  spread  it  out  on  the  hall 
table. 

"  Oh,  tie  it  up  and  go,"  said  Civille. 
"  Don't  stop  her,  Adrian.     You  can 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


121 


have  one  clay's  wages,  Katy,  if  you 
choose." 

"  No,  thank  ye  'in.  And  thank  ye 
sorr,"  returned  the  furious  serving  wo- 
man. "  An  it's  moighty  little  there's 
to  stale  in  this  house  any  way." 

"  You've  looked,  have  you  ?  "  hroke 
in  Adrian,  coolly. 

"  And  the  curse  o  Crom'll  on  sich 
naygurs  !  "  went  on  the  fury,  not  find- 
ing a  perfectly  handy  parry  to  this 
hit ;  and  out  she  bounced  and  off  she 
went,  along  stream  of  scolding  dying 
away  as  she  passed  down  the  street. 

"  Sit  down  a  few  moments,"  said 
Adrian  :  "  rest  you  a  little  ;  then  we'll 
look  round  the  house  and  see  that 
every  thing  is  safe ;  it  will  do  no  harm, 
and  you'll  sleep  better." 

So  they  went  into  the  parlor,  lit  the 
gas,  and  Civille  took  her  own  chair  by 
the  fire-place.  After  a  few  moments 
Adrian  said, 

"  Cousin  Civille,  please  to  tell  me 
if  you  think  proper,  what  happened 
at  Anketell's." 

She  started ;  "  Oh  no ! "  Then  she 
considered  a  moment,  and  then  —  re- 
considered. "  Yet  why  not  ?  It  was 
very  considerate  of  you,  Cousin  Adri- 
an, not  to  ask  me  before.  Thank  you. 
And  perhaps  you  ought  to  know.  But 
what  did  you  do  to  him,  Adrian?  " 

"Broke  his  jaw,  I  hope;  I  know 
I  lamed  my  knuckles,"  replied  the 
young  man,  examining  his  right  hand, 
which  was  in  fact  scarified  a  little 
as  will  happen  when  one  strikes  very 
straight  and  hard  on  a  sharp  bone. 
"I  can't  write  for  a  week,  to  judge 
from  the  sensation." 

Civille  was  about  to  run  for  arnica, 
but  Adrian  wouldn't  let  her,  and  she 
then  proceeded  to  describe  her  inter- 
view with  the  philosophic  Mr.  Anke- 
tell.  He  had  asked  her  into  the 
ante-room,  she  said,  on  pretence  of 
wishing  to  consult  her  about  a  fur- 


ther and  still  more  mysterious  doc- 
trine upon  which,  he  said,  his  soul 
had  been  deeply  pondering  for  a  long 
time.  The  statement  had  begun  with 
some  rhapsodies  about  the  ancient 
idea  of  an  outer  and  an  inner  doc- 
trine ;  about  Civille's  wonderful  quali- 
ties ;  about  the  Platonic  theoiy  of 
souls  made  in  two  halves,  which  be- 
longed to  each  other  by  the  very  fact 
itself  if  they  happened  to  meet,  and 
so  on.  Then  he  went  into  a  theory 
of  right  and  wrong  as  applied  to  him- 
self, which  ended  with  a  series  of 
propositions  in  substance  somewhat 
like  these:  "A  truly  organized  life 
would  be  immortal  in  this  body.  The 
society  of  our  other  half  soul  is  the 
one  first  greatest  requisite  for  this  im- 
mortality. No  law  can  be  paramount 
to  such  a  truth  as  that.  And  more- 
over, the  New  Universe  is  developing 
so  swiftly  that  my  laws  will  very  soon 
be  received  all  over  the  earth.  This 
earth  is  the  brain  of  the  Universe ;  I 
am  the  brain  of  this  earth.  In  less 
than  one  year,  you  will  sit  at  my  feet 
and  worship  me  as  a  God.  In  three 
years  I  shall  be  ruling  all  this  earth 
from  the  eternal  centre  of  earthly 
power  in  Rome.  And,"  concluded 
Civille,  with  a  great  effort,  —  "he 
insisted  upon  it  that  I  was  his  Queen  ; 
that  the  right  way  for  me  to  learn 
his  doctrine  was  to  be  his ;  and  — 
ugh! — before  I  could  get  away  he 
kissed  me ! " 

In  spite  of  his  anger,  Adrian  could 
not  help  laughing  at  her  disgust ;  for 
at  the  recollection,  she  gave  her^heek 
and  her  mouth  a  terrible  scrubbing 
with  her  handkerchief. 

"  Augh  !  "  she  repeated,  —  "  and 
he's  as  cold  and  damp  as  a  toad  !  " 

"  So  you  just  ran  away  ?  "  queried 
Adrian. 

"  Yes :  I  told  him  to  ask  Mrs.  An- 
ketell  about  it,  however." 


122 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


"  Mrs.  Anketell !  Is  the  old  scoun- 
drel married ! " 

"  Why  yes ;  long  ago.  He  said 
something  about  his  wife  being  per- 
fectty  willing ;  but  I  ran  out." 

"  Good  riddance,"  commented  Adri- 
an. He  was  on  the  point  of  adding 
the  dangerous  suggestion  that  he 
hoped  she  might  escape  as  well  from 
the  rest  of  her  psychological  investi- 
gations ;  but  he  stopped  just  in  time. 
He  recommended  instead  that  noth- 
ing should  be  said  to  her  father  about 
the  adventure,  as  it  would  only  dis- 
tress him,  to  which  she  agreed,  —  not 
knowing  however,  poor  girl,  how 
much  distress  she  had  already  occa- 
sioned him  :  and  now  they  made  a 
hasty  inspection  of  doors  and  win- 
dows, which  were  found  all  safe ;  and 
Civille,  as  they  came  round  again  to 
the  front  door,  shyly  invited  Adrian 
to  occupy  their  "spare  bedroom"  and 
breakfast  with  them  in  the  morning. 
He  however  excused  himself,  in  part 
because  he  suspected  what  was  indeed 
true,  that  Civille  would  have  to  get 
breakfast  herself,  and  ought  not  to 
have  the  additional  bother  of  a  visi- 


tor; and  partly  because  he  had  prom- 
ised to  spend  the  next  day  —  Sunday 
to  wit  —  with  Mr.  Button's  family, 
and  somehow  he  preferred  ro  go 
thither  from  his  lodgings.  As  Civille 
came  in  with  him,  in  readiness  to  lock 
the  door,  he  turned  and  said, 

"  Good  night." 

"Good  night,"  she  responded,  with 
sleep  already  drooping  cloudily  over 
her  lovely  gray  eyes,  and  a  smile  at 
her  own  fatigue.  Some  impulse  —  a 
wholly  inscrutable  one,  —  was  it  the 
example  of  the  philosophic  Mr.  An- 
ketell  ?  —  suddenly  sprang  up  in  the 
young  man's  mind.  So  quickly  that 
she  could  not  resist,  he  had  one  arm 
round  her  waist,  the  other  round  her 
neck,  and  had  pressed  a  long  hearty 
kiss  upon  her  flower-soft  lips.  They 
trembled  under  his. 

"  Go  quick,"  she  said.  He  could 
not  understand  whether  there  was 
sorrow  or  displeasure  in  her  voice  ; 
there  was  something.  But  without  a 
word  he  opened  the  door  and  departed  ; 
and  all  the  way  to  his  boarding  house 
he  was  saying  to  himself 

"  I  wonder  what  I  did  that  for  ?  " 


PART   VI. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Adrian,  with  the  unconscious  good 
fortune  of  youth,  slept  as  he  usually 
did,  one  deep,  refreshing  sleep,  all 
night  long,  and  awoke,  as  one  should 
awake  ;  not  with  sticky  ej-es,  a  sense 
of  having  been  slowly  boiled,  a  slug- 
gish, unwilling  recognition  of  return- 
ing, conscious  thought,  and  under  an 
after-night  or  spiritual  darkness  of 
ill-nature,  but  altogether  clean ;  as 
one  rises  promptly  from  a  piece  of 
work  handsomely  done  and  finished  ; 
bright ;  jolly. 

Not  that  he  sprang  instantly  out 
of  bed,  as  the  exemplars  do  —  con- 


found them  !  Is  there  anything  so 
hateful  or  so  impudent  as  a  good 
example  ?  The  Duke  of  Wellington 
used  to  say,  "  When  it 's  time  to  turn 
over  it 's  time  to  turn  out."  N.  B. 
He 's  dead.  Adrian  had  more  sense  ; 
he  knew  enough  to  lie  still  a  little 
while  and  be  comfortable.  The  mo- 
ments between  healthy  waking  and 
judicious  arising  are  the  honey- 
moon of  the  day ;  in  them  we  wel- 
come the  sunlight  and  its  life  ;  rejoice 
with  it  before  settling  clown  to  those 
sober,  conventional  utilities  of  the 
day's  work  which  begin  with  clothes 
and  breakfast.     The  soul  is  calm  and 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


123 


happy ;  and  the  thoughts  are  either 
quiescent,  while  a  mere  sense  of  suf- 
ficient well-being,  of  sweetness  and 
light,  fills  the  consciousness,  or  they 
brood,  with  that  spontaneous,  lucid, 
unconscious  evolution  which  belongs 
to  the  highest  activities  of  the  mind, 
over  airy  subject  that  is  present. 
Genius  is  simply  the  action  of  the 
mind,  as  in  lying  awake  in  bed  before 
getting  up  to  breakfast.  Not  that 
there  are  not  other  climaxes  of  gen- 
ius. Perhaps  it  would  be  more  ac- 
curate to  turn  the  statement  end  for 
end.  The  action  of  the  mind  in  bed 
while  we  lie  awake  in  the  morning 
before  getting  up  to  breakfast,  is  of 
the  nature  of  genius.  That  is,  some- 
times. 

What  Adrian  considered  was,  how- 
ever, a  very  practical  question : 
What  is  to  be  clone  about  Civille? 
And  his  statement  of  the  case  to 
himself  and  his  reasonings  upon  it 
ran  somewhat  thus  :  — 

Civille  herself,  just  now,  is  a  spirit 
not  quite  sufficiently  embodied.  It 
is  a  case  of  extreme  fineness  of  or- 
ganization physically,  and  extreme 
spirituality  mentally.  The  risk, 
therefore,  is  of  over-activity  and 
over-excitement,  and  of  views  and 
actions  unpractical,  visionary,  but 
not  selfish  nor  materialized  ;  just  the 
contrary,  indeed  ;  much  too  unselfish, 
much  too  clisregardful  of  established 
opinions,  of  friends,  of  her  own  com- 
fort. 

Second,  the  influences  around  Ci- 
ville. There  is  that  sunless,  ill-aired, 
ill-drained  old  house.  Her  wiry  old 
father  may  not  feel  it,  but  it  is 
steadity  lowering  the  tone  of  her 
vitality ;  thinning  down  the  outer 
wall,  as  it  were,  of  her  frame,  so  frail 
already  that  it  is  translucent  ^trans- 
lucent to  my  will,  thought  the  }roung 
man,   with  a  distinct    thrill  as  he 


thought  it) ;  so  that  all  of  a  sudden 
the  soul  will  quite  slip  out  and  escape 
us,  if  we  are  not  careful.  There  are 
the  doctrines  and  atmosphere  of  the 
Solidarite.  But  what  are  they  ?  Only 
a  clatter.  Nothing  there  can  attract 
Civille  except  what  she  believes  to 
exist  there,  whether  it  does  or  not  — 
an  earnest  wish  for  the  good  of  hu- 
manity. Then  the  spirits.  For  her, 
this  sort  of  thing  is  unsuitable.  It 
is  a  tippling  of  the  soul  ;  as  pecu- 
liarly dangerous  for  her  high- wrought 
and  already  over-spiritual  personal- 
ity as  the  tippling  of  liquor  for  the 
already  over-vivid  life  of  Edgar  A. 
Poe.  Also,  the  Anketellical  Uni- 
verse. That's  eliminated  from  the 
problem,  thanks  to  the  creator  of  it 
himself.  Civille  never  will  want  to 
see  Mm  again.  And  this  ma}'  help 
wean  her  from  the  Solidarite,  too. 
Last  of  all,  the  detective,  Amos 
Olds  —  the  charge  of  theft  —  the 
men  that  Civille  has  repeatedly  seen, 
or  thought  she  has  seen,  following 
her,  —  doubtless  on  the  part  of  Olds. 
This  is  the  worst  matter  of  all, 
because  it  is  so  dangerous  to  handle. 
With  whom  shall  I  advise  about  it? 
Jenks  and  Trainor?  Olds  himself? 
The  central  police  authorities  ?  Mr. 
Button?  None  of  them  seemed  a 
welcome  or  even  a  safe  counsellor ; 
and  the  quiet  and  ready  intelligence 
of  Mr.  Bird,  the  reporter,  suggested 
itself  to  Adrian.  So  did  the  long 
and  stiff  figure  of  Doctor  Toomston, 

—  ungenial,  conventional,  conserva- 
tive, but  said  to  be  kind-hearted  and 
sensible. 

Below    or     behind     all     Adrian's 
thoughts  and  purposes  was  a  doubt, 

—  obscure,  not  perhaps  fully  recog- 
nized —  too  painful  to  be  fully  rec- 
ognized—  by  the  young  man  him- 
self, and  which  he  certainly  would 
not  have  hinted  to  another ;  such  a 


124 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


doubt  as  comes  into  minds  that  reach 
after  all  the  possibilities  of  a  case ; 
the  doubt  of  a  judge,  not  of  an  advo- 
cate •  such  a  doubt  as  has  tormented 
many  a  friend  to  some  "  good  man 
struggling  with  the  storms  of  fate," 
under  specific  slander  or  general  evil 
repute  ;  a  doubt  based,  perhaps,  upon 
a  humble  sense  of  the  doubter's  own 
weakness,  or  upon  a  profound  appre- 
hension of  the  weaknesses  of  human- 
ity at  large.  It  was  simply  this : 
Suppose  Civille  has  done  it  ? 

Who  has  not  felt  such  a  question 
lurking,  as  it  were,  in  the  dark  corner 
of  his  soul,  when  some  near  and  dear 
friend  has  been  accused?  It  is  not 
suspicion  ;  it  is  not  wickedness.  It 
is  knowledge  waiting  for  more  knowl- 
edge. It  is  colorless  of  feeling  mean- 
while, and  neither  chilled  by  evil 
passion,  nor  warmed  by  that  which 
is  kindly.  Not  that  the  truth  of  the 
charge  would  have  diminished  one 
whit  Adrian's  regard  for  Civille ; 
his  was  not  a  nature  to  forsake  the 
unhappy.  Indeed,  the  fact  would 
have  proved  her,  to  him,  not  bad,  but 
simply  ill ;  more  unfortunate,  more 
unhappy,  than  she  was  already.  For 
in  spite  of  her  ordinary  calm  and 
sweet  and  kindly  composure  of  man- 
ner, and  earnest  seriousness  of  occu- 
pation, the  whole  impression  which 
she  had  made  upon  Adrian  was  of 
profound  sadness.  If  she  were  really 
under  the  dominion  of  the  odious  ma- 
nia of  which  she  was  suspected,  could 
she  be  in  a  greater  misfortune  ?  And 
did  she  not  all  the  more  need  friends 
and  help,  poor  lonely  thing,  the  more 
unfortunate  she  was?  The  fact  is, 
that  to  such  a  nature  as  Adrian's, 
and  at  his  time  of  life,  an  actual  de- 
monstration of  her  systematic  thiev- 
ing at  Jenks  and  Trainor's  would 
have  riveted  his  sympathy,  his  help- 
ful affection,  it  may  almost  be  said, 


more  than  any  good  fortune  or  good 
qualities  in  the  world.  Youth,  for 
lofty  natures,  is  knighthood.  Adrian 
was  riding  abroad  in  his  first  knight- 
errantry.  His  shield  was  yet  white  ; 
he  was  unconsciously  longing  to  do 
some  noble  deed  that  might  entitle 
him  to  an  honorable  escutcheon.  And 
of  all  the  incitements  of  chivalry,  the 
sweetest  and  loftiest  is  that  of  a  lovely 
maiden  in  distress  ;  and  again  and 
again  there  floated  across  Adrians 
mind,  alwa}Ts  full  of  associated  ideas, 
always  making  pictures,  the  wondrous 
imaginations  of  Una  in  the  forest,  and 
of  the  gentle  lady  in  Comus.  It  was 
this  last,  however,  with  whom  he  most 
naturally  identified  Civille ;  for  all 
the  vulgar  surroundings  and  impo- 
sitions that  beset  her  —  suspicious 
policemen,  crack-brained  reformers, 
low-bred  visionaries,  sensual,  knavish 
delusionists  —  were  singularly  well 
represented  by  the  bestial  rout,  — 
"  a  rout  of  monsters,  headed  like  sun- 
dry sorts  of  wild  beasts,  but  other- 
wise like  men  and  women,"  —  that 
persecuted  the  Lady.  As  for  Comus 
himself,  the  part  was  right  aptly  filled 
by  the  great  S.  P.  Quinby  Anketell, 
whose  arguments,  indeed,  fitted  not 
ill  with  the  sophistries  which  John 
Milton  has  put  into  the  mouth  of  the 
son  of  Circe. 

So  Adrian  thought  and  thought, 
and  could  resolve  on  nothing  satis- 
factory. He  reached  one  partial 
conclusion  which  was  sound  enough, 
namely  :  that  for  directly  influencing 
Civille  herself,  the  appeal  must  be 
made  to  her  own  strongest  motive 
qualities,  being  indeed  the  same  that 
were  now  carrying  her  wrong,  if 
she  were  in  fact  going  wrong, — the 
same  longing  for  better  things,  the 
same  keen  desire  for  higher  knowl- 
edge and  clearer  light,  the  same 
sweet,  unselfish  wish  for  the  happi- 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


125 


ness  of  others,  which  were  impelling 
her  in  her  researches  into  what  she 
believed  reforms,  and  in  her  work 
about  the  charities  connected  with 
Dr.  Toomston's  church.  If  she  was 
to  be  induced  of  herself  to  discon- 
tinue any  line  of  conduct,  and  to 
adopt  a  different  one,  it  must  be  by 
showing  her  that  she  would,  by  so 
doing,  save  suffering  and  afford  hap- 
piness to  others. 

"  If  I  could  fill  her  mind  full  of  some 
other  and  more  real  occupation,"  the 
young  man  thought,  "  that  is  the 
best  thing  I  could  do  —  that  would 
bring  her  right.  Just  as  they  shake  a 
rattle  before  babies  that  cry.  I  guess 
there 's  a  good  deal  of  bab}r  in  un- 
conscious natures."  But  he  could 
think  of  no  such  occupation,  and  he 
knew  how  difficult  it  is  in  this  age  to 
find  good  employment  for  a  single 
young  woman. 

Whether  anything  could  be  done 
by  the  usual  means  of  bringing  to 
bear  upon  her  the  influence  of  friends, 
that  is,  a  pressure  of  opinion,  seemed 
very  doubtful.  But  Adrian,  with 
natural  good  sense,  resolved  to  con- 
sult whomsoever  should  seem  safest. 
He  felt  himself  able  to  influence  Mr. 
Van  Braam,  who,  kindly  and  pure  and 
visionary,  had  no  "  initiative,"  and 
could  at  most  recognize  and  follow 
good  counsel,  but  certainly  would 
never  suggest  any.  He  finally  re- 
solved, as  he  was  to  pass  the  day 
with  the  Buttons,  to  try  some  hints 
upon  the  capitalist  himself,  whose 
coarse  and  rough  nature  did  not  neces- 
sarily prevent  him  from  being  an  ex- 
cellent adviser.  Adrian  was,  however, 
displeased  with  himself  for  the  reluc- 
tance he  could  not  help  feeling  to 
speak  to  Mr.  Button  on  the  subject. 
He  retained  his  resolution,  however  ; 
it  was  a  mannish  resolution,  formed 
from  the  conclusions  of  the  reasoning 


faculties,  against  the  wish  of  the  intu- 
itions 

With  this  unsatisfying  but  definite 
purpose  in  his  mind,  Adrian  arose, 
and  after  breakfast  set  out  for  Mr. 
Button's  residence,  as  his  day  there 
must  needs  begin  in  good  season, 
since  it  was  mostly  to  be  spent  else- 
where. This  paradox  only  requires 
that  we  take  "  house  "  in  the  antique 
sense  of  family.  Thus  :  as  for  Mr. 
Button  and  his  house,  they  served 
the  Lord,  to  the  very  best  of  their 
abilities,  and  with  a  special  ex- 
clusiveness  on  Sunda3*s,  —  or  Sab- 
baths, as  they  called  them,  —  both 
the}7  and  the  stranger  within  their 
gates  ;  and  much  more,  then,  the  near 
relative  and  intended  member  who 
might  sojourn  with  them.  Divine 
service  in  the  morning,  Sunday-school 
in  the  afternoon,  divine  service  in 
the  evening —  such  was  the  invariable 
programme,  and  at  all  three  Mr.  But- 
ton and  his  family  were  strictly  hold- 
en  to  appear,  "  armed  and  equipped 
as  the  law  directs,"  to  use  an  an- 
cient formula  for  notifying  militia 
gatherings,  and,  therefore,  one  not 
unsuitable  for  the  church  militant. 

Musing  sometimes,  sometimes 
looking  about  him,  Adrian  strolled 
along  street  and  avenue,  savoring 
with  full  breath  the  clear,  bright, 
vitalized  winter  air ;  when,  as  he 
drew  near  the  Buttonian  regions,  in 
a  street  of  that  peculiarly  dreaiy  and 
gloomy  grandeur  which  belongs  to 
the  "  brown  stone  front,"  —  a  street 
that  looked  indeed  about  as  much 
like  a  deep  cut  through  a  quarry  of 
old  red  sandstone  as  like  a  double 
row  of  human  habitations,  —  as  he 
wandered  gazing  along  beneath  the 
towering  precipices  of  one  side  of 
this  freestone  Petra,  he  espied  on  an 
unobtrusive  little  tin  sign  over  a 
basement  window  the  words,   "  Dr 


126 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


Codleigh  Veroil."  With  an  intu- 
itional flash  of  vision,  Adrian  saw 
at  once  that  the  doctor  was  his  right 
adviser  about  Civille,  whose  usual 
medical  attendant  he  knew  him  to  be, 
and  that  of  Mr.  Button's  family  also. 
He  had  seen  the  doctor  once  or  twice, 
and  remembered  perfectly  his  hand- 
some, intelligent,  kindly  face.  "  A 
physician  is  my  man,  of  course,"  he 
said  to  himself,  as  he  unhesitatingly 
turned  in  under  the  "high  stoop" 
and  rang  the  office  bell ;  "  the 
Protestant  father  confessor,  now  that 
soul  and  bod}*  are  so  much  con- 
founded together."  And  with  his 
thoughts  running  upon  the  parallel 
or  contrast  between  ancient  religions 
and  modern  ones,  he  was  shown  into 
the  office,  where  Doctor  Veroil  in  a 
few  moments  joined  him.  Without 
waiting  to  be  embarrassed,  Adrian 
spoke : — 

"  I  must  beg  your  pardon,  first  of 
all,  doctor,  for  troubling  you  so  early, 
and  on  Sunday ;  and  perhaps  it  is 
not  a  strictly  professional  errand, 
either." 

The  doctor  bowed  and  smiled  in 
his  pleasant  way,  —  whose  manners 
are  as  comfortable  and  agreeable  as 
those  of  a  polite  and  successful  phy- 
sician ?  And  Dr.  Veroil's  handsome, 
pleasant  face,  his  singularly  sympa- 
thetic manner,  were  unmatched  even 
among  doctors.  Certainly  they  had 
made  his  fortune,  for  he  was  already 
rich.  Not  that  his  abilities  were  not 
great :  the}*  were  :  he  was  a  trained 
and  scientific  practitioner  of  the  very 
best  order  ;  a  man  of  much  breadth 
and  strength  of  thought,  and  of  high 
accomplishments,  besides  all  his  nat- 
ural gifts.  But  his  manners  had 
secured  his  abilities  a  chance ;  for 
everybody  that  looked  at  him  liked 
him,  and  nobod}*  who  employed  him 
could  like  any  other  doctor  so  well. 


His  practice  might  be  acceptable  or 
not ;  successful  or  not ;  at  the  death 
of  a  patient,  the  family  of  the  de- 
ceased, as  sometimes  happens,  might 
dismiss  the  doctor,  as  if  he  had  killed 
their  friend.  They  never  think  of 
dismissing  their  God,  and  trying  an- 
other !  But  even  in  such  a  case,  the 
man  was  surely  regretted,  though  the 
physician  might  be  changed  ;  and  he 
was  usually  recalled  after  one  exper- 
iment elsewhere. 

Adrian,  encouraged  by  Dr.  Veroil's 
good  nature,  proceeded  to  introduce 
himself. 

"  Ver}*  glad  to  see  you,  indeed," 
responded  the  genial  doctor,  shaking 
hands;  "I  remember  perfectly — ■ 
met  you  at  Mr  Button's.  Entirely 
at  j'our  service.  What  can  I  do  for 
you  ?  " 

Adrian  hereupon  explained  that  he 
had  ventured  to  call,  for  the  reason 
that  the  doctor  was  family  physician 
as  aforesaid.  He  fancied  that  the 
doctor  became  very  attentive  after 
Mr.  Button  was  mentioned.  Valu- 
able patrons,  no  doubt,  he  thought, 
lie  went  on,  however,  to  state  as 
succinctly  as  he  could  the  substance 
of  his  morning's  reflections,  about  the 
character  of  Civille,  the  influences  at 
present  operating  upon  her,  and  in 
particular  the  motives  —  as  he  sus- 
pected —  of  some  of  those  around 
her,  namely :  to  make  her  a  lovely 
mystic  high-priestess  of  abomina- 
tions, or  at  least  of  delusions. 

"  Now  it  seems  to  me,  doctor,"  he 
observed  at  last,  "  all  this  amounts, 
not  necessarily  to  an  organization 
originally  bad  or  ill-proportioned, 
but  to  one  too  good,  if  anything,  and 
liable  to  manifestations  not  of  or- 
ganic defect,  but  of  perversions  tem- 
porary, I  suppose  at  first ;  from  exter- 
nal causes,  and  admitting  of  complete 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost   Library. 


127 


"  Very  justly  reasoned,"  assented 
the  doctor,  —  "  very  well  put ;  not 
a  bad  diagnosis." 

"  Well,  the  real  question,  the  real 
trouble,  is  one  that  all  these  physi- 
cal sensibilities  and  mental  excite- 
ments lead  up  to."  —  The  young  man 
paused,  moved  his  seat  nearer  to 
the  doctor's,  and  glanced  apprehen- 
sively round  the  room 

"  Not  a  soul  on  this  whole  floor 
except  ourselves,"  said  Dr.  Veroil, 
kindly.  Adrian  went  on,  his  voice 
dropping  of  itself  almost  to  a  whis- 
per,— 

"  The  real  question  is,  Can  any 
positive  mental  disorder  have  su- 
pervened already  ?  For,  doctor,  the 
police  are  actually  watching  her,  on 
a  suspicion  —  a  charge,  almost,  of 
kleptomania  —  of  theft  from  Jenks 
&  Trainor's.  And  the  question  is : 
Is  it  possible  ?  And  if  so,  is  there 
any  remedy  ?  " 

It  is  not  easy  to  startle  an  experi- 
enced physician.  But  Doctor  Veroil 
positively  turned  white  for  a  moment. 

"  Good  God  !  "  he  said,  below  his 
breath;  "then"  —  he  stopped  short. 
Something  in  his  manner  gave  Ad- 
rian a  horrible  pain,  and  his  heart 
stood  still.  "  He  knows  about  it," 
he  thought ;  "  he  believes  it !  " 

"  Let  me  understand,"  said  Doctor 
Veroil,  as  if  doubtful  whether  he  had 
not  been  on  a  wrong  track  ;  "  whom 
did  you  say  the  police  were  watch- 
ing?" 

"Why,  my  cousin  —  Civille  Van 
Braam." 

"  Ah  —  O  —  yes,  —  to  be  sure, 
but,  I  thought — beg  pardon  —  you 
were  engaged  to  Miss  Button?" 

"  I  am,  doctor,"  said  Adrian,  sur- 
prised ;  "  why?" 

"  Well,"  said  the  other,  with  some 
hesitation,  "  I  believe  I  was  for  the 
moment  confounding  the  two  }roung 


ladies  in  my  mind.  They  are  cous- 
ins, and  both  patients  of  mine."  He 
reflected  a  moment,  and  continued, 
more  to  himself  than  to  Adrian,  "  I 
wish  I  could  have  her  married,  and 
with  a  baby  of  her  own  to  take  care 
of,  within  just  twenty  minutes  from 
now  ;  then  she'd  be  all  right.  That's 
what  balances  a  woman.  She 's  very 
fond  of  children,  too."  Then  he  con- 
tinued, to  Adrian,  "  You  'd  think  so, 
if  }'ou  'd  seen  her  cuddle  that  nigger 
baby,  as  Mrs.  Button  called  it,  the 
other  da}',  at  the  Shadowing  Wings. 
Pretty  little  thing  !  They  kicked  it 
out,  too,  I  'm  told  !  God  Almighty  !  " 
exclaimed  the  physician,  angered  at 
the  recollection.  Upon  Adrian's  in- 
quiry, Dr.  Veroil  told  him  about  the 
Christian  Expediency  Infant  Expul- 
sion business  ;  and  if  sympathy  was 
of  any  use  to  him,  he  should  have 
been  much  benefited ;  for  Adrian, 
3'ounger  and  less  hardened,  if  not 
natural ly  more  emotional,  quite  over- 
flowed with  pity  and  rage  :  — 

"  Why,  doctor,"  he  said,  "that's 
the  same  kind  of  doctrine  that  says 
hell  is  paved  with  infants'  skulls  !  I 
tell  you  what :  folks  that  believe  such 
things,  or  do  'em  either,  will  have 
a  chance  to  find  out  for  themselves 
whether  it's  paved  so  or  not,  it's  my 
opinion  !  " 

"  Tut,  tut,  3*oung  man !  let  them 
do  their  own  damning,  —  they  're 
read}T  enough.  Besides,  minds  that 
are  ignorant  and  essentially  vulgar 
are  alwa}\s  brutalizing  the  theories  of 
their  betters.  Calvinism  is  n't  neces- 
sarily so  bad  as  that.  The  practice 
of  it  is  n't,  at  least.  Dr.  Toomston 
is  about  the  stiffest  Calvinist  left  in 
New  York,  they  say.  But  he's  a 
good  old  fellow ;  he  would  n't  do 
one  unkind  thing  to  a  baby  to  keep 
his  own  soul  out  of  hell,  even  if  he 
believed  God  had  predestined  every 


128 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


baby  in  the  world  to  eternal  damna- 
tion." 

Breaking  off  for  a  moment,  he  re- 
sumed :  — 

"  But  all  that's  none  of  my  busi- 
ness, though  theology  was  alwaj's 
interesting  to  me.  It's  a  kind  of 
intellectual  translation  of  religion  ; 
there 's  something  wonderful  as  well 
as  melancholy  in  seeing  great  minds 
exhaust  themselves  in  trying  to  ex- 
press in  the  narrowest  sort  of  human 
limitations,  in  stiff,  verbal  phrases, 
not  merely  emotions,  which  are  all 
exactly  the  things  that  words  cannot 
ever  touch,  —  but  exactly  the  high- 
est, the  grandest,  the  remotest,  the 
vastest  of  all  the  emotions,  —  those 
that  lift  towards  God  !  As  a  jackass 
undertaking  to  bra}'  out  the  soliloquy 
in  Hamlet,  so,  only  infinitely  more 
so,  is  a  doctor  of  divinity  undertaking 
to  define  and  enunciate  religion  in 
sentences.  But  all  that's  none  of 
my  business  —  professionally.  I  'm 
a  doctor  of  medicine.  I  'm  glad  you 
called,  Mr.  Chester ;  all  the  parties 
concerned  are  good  friends  of  mine, 
besides  being  my  patients.  I  will  see 
Miss  Van  Braam,  and  advise  you  and 
assist  you  to  the  best  of  my  ability.'* 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  doctor ; 
you  relieve  me  greatly .  But  there 's 
one  further  idea  of  mine  that  I  must 
ask  you  about.     It  is  —  " 

Here  the  office  bell  was  violently 
rung,  and  in  a  moment  the  servant 
brought  in  and  handed  the  doctor  a 
soiled  scrap  of  paper.  Glancing  at 
it,  lie  ordered  his  carriage  instantly, 
adding,  — 

"  Put  in  the  bay  —  he 's  the  quick- 
est. Now  jump  !  "  and  the  man  shot 
out  of  the  door,  electrified  by  the 
doctor's  energy. 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Chester  —  busi- 
ness, you  know."  As  he  spoke,  he 
took  from  the  table  a  small  case  of 


instruments  and  another  of  medi- 
cines, slid  each  into  a  pocket  in  a 
heavy  overcoat,  and  then  slid  the 
garment  upon  himself.  Hardly  had 
he  clone  so  when  the  impatient  tramp 
of  a  horse  and  the  pounding  of 
heavy  wheels  smote  sharply  on  the 
ear,  as  the  equipage  rattled  round  to 
the  front  door  and  halted. 

"  Come  along,"  continued  the  doc- 
tor, smiling  and  peremptoiy  ;  "  you 
shall  tell  me  the  rest  in  the  carriage  ; 
it  won't  put  you  ten  minutes  out  of 
your  way,  and  no  matter  if  it  does." 

Adrian  followed  without  a  word. 
The  two  men  entered  the  carriage  ; 
the  doctor,  reading  a  moment  from 
his  scrap  of  paper,  gave  his  driver  a 
number  in  one  of  the  dirtier  parts 
of  the  Eighth  Ward,  to  wit,  in  Greene 
Street,  below  Houston ;  and  the 
strong,  high-fed  bay  horse  sprang  off 
at  a  speed}-  trot. 

"  1  declare,"  said  Adrian,  who 
knew  the  difference  between  a  clothes- 
horse  and  a  trotting  horse,  — "  I  de- 
clare, how  square  he  trots,  and  how 
he  does  get  over  the  ground  !  " 

"  Yes  indeed,"  said  Doctor  Veroil. 
"  Very  tough  beast,  too  ;  take  me  two 
years  to  use  him  up,  I  expect.  A 
man  whose  time  is  worth  ten  dollars 
an  hour  can't  spare  horse-flesh." 

"  But  shall  3011  kill  him  in  two 
3rears  ?  "  said  Adrian,  startled. 

"  O,  no  ;  but  pounding  over  these 
stone  pavements  will  stiffen  him  up 
by  that  time  so  that  he  can't  do  my 
work." 

"  Ten  dollars  an  hour,"  repeated 
Adrian;  "but  I  didn't  know  the 
people  in  Greene  Street  could  pay 
such  prices." 

"  This  one  can't  —  nor  any  price, 
I  expect,  poor  thing  !  She  has  been 
a  patient  of  mine  before  ;  about  used 
up,  I  guess.  Physicians  have  to  do 
a  good  deal  of  gratuitous  work,  you 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


129 


know.  We  make  the  rich  folks  pay 
for  the  poor,  in  part.  I  send  a  young 
friend  of  mine  to  a  good  many  such 
cases,  —  capital  practice  they  are,  — 
but  I  know  this  poor  girl  depends  on 
seeing  me.  I  believe  she  thinks 
I  could  raise  her  from  the  dead." 
Adrian  was  surprised  at  the  matter-of- 
fact  and  unmistakably  genuine  kind- 
.heartedness  of  the  busy,  professional 
man  —  he  did  not  know  how  full 
of  it  the  medical  profession  is.  But 
without  waiting  for  compliment  or 
explanation,  Doctor  Veroil  went  on  : 

"  Well,  now,  about  your  idea?" 

"  I  had  a  notion,  as  I  am  obliged  to 
go  back  home  in  a  day  or  two,  to  put 
my  trust  in  one  other  man,  who  can 
help  us,  I  think,  in  dealing  with  the 
police.  To  expose  my  cousin  in 
either  court  or  newspapers  would  cer- 
tainly kill  her  father,  besides  inflict- 
ing inexpressible  distress  on  herself, 
and  others  too." 

"  Is  n't  Mr.  Button  the  best  man 
to  do  that  ? " 

"  I  had  meant  to  consult  him," 
said  Adrian  ;  "  but  "  —  he  paused. 
Dr.  Veroil  smiled. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said.  "  Rather 
a  heavy  touch,  his  is.  Well;  I'll 
try  him,  perhaps.  I  think  I  know 
how  to  argue  the  case  to  him.  But 
who  is  your  man  ?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  it  looks  absurd  ;  "but 
he  seems  to  me  remarkably  shrewd, 
and  I  am  pretty  sure  he  knows  how 
to  do  it.  A  good-hearted  fellow,  too. 
He  is  a  police  reporter.  Bird,  his 
name  is." 

"  A  police  reporter,"  repeated  the 
doctor,  with  some  surprise.  "Exactly 
the  wrong  sort.  Stay  —  Bird,  you 
said  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  that  alters  the  case.  I 
know  him.  Patient  of  mine.  Quite 
a  character.     Yes,  you  may  do  it. 


And  I  '11  tell  you  how.  Send  him  to 
me ;  he  and  I  will  keep  everything 
safe,  at  least  until  we  reach  the  truth 
in  the  matter,  and  find  out  exactly 
where  we  are.  And  for  the  present, 
don't  say  a  word  to  any  one  else." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  doctor's  coupe,  jumping  vehe- 
mently along  the  rough  pavement, 

"  Without  stop  or  stay,  down  the  rocky  way," 

halted  with  a  jerk,  and  the  doctor 
sprang  out.  Turning  back,  he  said, 
as  the  thought  struck  him, — 

"  Come  along.  You  can  pass  for 
my  student.  It's  worth  while  to  see' 
one  of  these  Greene  Street  tenement 
houses  for  once." 

Adrian  followed  instantly,  observ- 
ing, as  he  stepped  across  the  side- 
walk, that  another  carriage  stood 
close  by,  among  a  number  of  drays, 
furniture  vans,  and  tradesmen's 
wagons ;  and  he  also  had  time  to 
glance  at  the  front  of  the  house  they 
were  entering :  it  was  a  lofty  brick 
building,  painted  of  a  dark,  dull, 
blueish  color,  of  about  thirty  feet 
front,  having  its  door  in  the  middle, 
with  one  window  at  each  side,  and 
the  floors  were  low  "  between  joints," 
showing  an  unusual  number  of  rather 
small  windows  all  over  the  front. 
Following  the  doctor,  Adrian  passed 
into  a  very  narrow  hall  or  alley  that 
led  straight  through  the  house  from 
front  to  rear ;  midway,  in  the  dark- 
ness, the  staircase  to  the  next  floor 
could  be  dimly  seen.  Doctor  Veroil 
hurried  past  this,  however,  out 
through  the  back  door,  across  a 
narrow,  gloomy,  paved  space,  into 
the  "  rear  building,"  as  they  call  a 
favorite  device  of  New  York  real- 
estate  owners,  for  the  slow  murder 
of  poor  people  ;  half-way  through  just 


130 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


such  another  dark  narrow  hall,  smell- 
ing very  close  and  nasty ;  up  just 
such  another  stairway,  but  still  more 
dimly  seen ;  into  the  second-floor 
dark  alley,  and  up  another  stairway  ; 
into  the  third  floor,  and  up  another  ; 
into  the  fourth  floor,  and  up  another. 
On  the  fifth  floor  Dr.  Veroil,  turning 
towards  the  area  or  pit  between  the 
buildings,  stepped  to  a  small  grimy 
window,  and  once  more  closely  scru- 
tinized his  bit  of  paper.  As  he  did 
so,  Adrian,  who  had  with  some  diffi- 
culty followed  close  at  his  heels, 
heard  a  voice  that  he  recognized,  —  a 
woman's  voice,  sharp,  strong,  practi- 
cal, and  decided. 

"  Never  experienced  a  hope  ?  " 
Adrian's  quick  car  distinguished  a 
very  feeble  rustle,  as  of  one  silently 
moving  one's  head  on  a  pillow  in 
reply.  The  practical  decided  voice 
went  straight  on  :  — 

"  My  erring  sister,  it  is  rny  plain 
duty  as  a  Christian  woman  to  warn 
you  that  your  time  is  short,  and  that 
you  should  in  this  awful  hour  repent 
of  your  sins,  give  yourself  to  God, 
and  prepare  at  once  to  meet  your 
Saviour  and  your  Judge.  The  doors 
of  hell  are  gaping  for  you  ;  it  is  evi- 
dent that  you  cannot  live  more  than 
an  hour  or  two  —  " 

"  Where 's  Bill}-  ?  I  want  to  see  —  " 
The  weak,  frightened,  longing 
cry  —  a  faint,  faint  cry  —  ended  in 
an  awful  choking  gurgle  ;  Dr.  Veroil 
rushed  into  the  room  —  it  was  that 
which  he  was  looking  for,  though  he 
had  naturally  enough  hesitated  a 
moment  before  interrupting ;  and 
Adrian  followed. 

It  is  without  any  special  volition 
that  keen  perceptions  take  in  the  least 
as  well  as  the  chiefest  details  of  a  pic- 
ture. Accordingly,  the  whole  of  this 
painful  scene  smote  upon  Adrian's 
consciousness,  and  impressed  upon 


his  memory  things  both  small  and 
great,  as  instantly  as  a  die  with  one 
stroke  smites  every  detail  of  its  im« 
press  upon  the  metal  beneath  it. 
Heterogeneous  accessories  and  awful 
central  figure  flashed  altogether  upon 
him,  and  the  whole  picture,  keyed, 
like  so  many  paintings,  upon  its  one 
strong  red  spot,  was  indelibly  printed 
in  his  mind.  The  small,  hot,  close 
room,  with  its  dusk}*  light ;  the  sickly, 
medicinal  odor ;  the  dirty  little 
flat-topped,  black  cooking-stove,  its 
front  in  a  dull,  red  glow  from  ne- 
glected draft ;  the  poor  array  of  fem- 
inine gear  hanging  on  pegs  at  one 
side  of  the  room  ;  the  scant}*,  worn- 
out,  old  ingrain  carpet ;  the  rickety, 
painted  furniture ;  the  two  or  three 
cheap,  gaudy  pictures,  and  a  photo- 
graph or  two,  on  the  wall ;  the  stiff, 
erect  form  of  Mrs.  Button,  the  fright- 
ened face  of  her  daughter  Ann  at  the 
other  side  of  the  bed  ;  the  frowsy  fig- 
ure of  a  young  woman  in  attendance 
on  the  patient,  and  who  was  uselessly 
holding  her  head  ;  and  in  the  midst 
of  all  these  the  ghastly  figure,  with 
its  wasted,  chalky  face,  propped  up 
against  a  pillow  or  two  ;  the  bright- 
red  blood  actually  still  flowing  from 
the  mouth  ;  and  in  which  Adrian  at 
once  recognized  the  poor  girl  who 
had  waited  on  him  at  the  concert  sa- 
loon :  all  this  seen  so  suddenly,  made 
up  of  such  unexpected  constituents, 
and  forming  a  group  so  grim,  was 
felt  by  Adrian  almost  like  something 
burnt  in  upon  him  with  a  red-hot  iron. 
As  the  two  men  entered,  the  wo- 
men, startled,  uttered  a  cry,  and  Mrs. 
Button  and  Ann  looked  at  Adrian, 
quite  confounded.  Adrian  stopped 
short,  horrified.  The  physician 
stepped  promptly  forward,  felt  the 
pulse  of  the  patient,  dropped  it. 

"  Dead  !  —  and     you  've     killed 
her,  you  "  —  he  continued,  quite  be- 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


131 


side  himself,  turning  short  upon  Mrs. 
Button,  who  was  too  much  astounded 
to  feel  insulted.  The  doctor,  turn- 
ing once  more  to  the  bed,  tried  the 
pulse,  the  heart,  the  mouth.  But 
life  was  gone,  and  he  laid  the  poor, 
wasted  phantom  back  tenderly  upon 
the  pillow. 

"  It  may  be  the  poor  thing  would  n't 
have  lived  long,"  he  said  ;  "  but  you 
finished  her  off  suddenly  with  your 
infamous  hell.  Why  couldn't  you 
let  her  die  quietly  ?  " 

With  a  great  struggle,  the  resolute 
woman  manned  herself —  if  one  may 
say  so  —  against  the  wrath  of  the  doc- 
tor, and,  fighting  against  her  own 
agitation  also,  she  made  answer  :  — 

"  I  only  told  her  the  truth.  I  did 
my  duty  in  striving  to  save  an  im- 
perilled immortal  soul  at  the  eleventh 
hour." 

"  Eleventh  nonsense  !  "  cried  the 
doctor,  in  a  fury.  "  Told  her  the 
truth ! "  repeated  he,  with  angry 
scorn.  "  If  3'ou  only  knew  it,  it 
would  have  been  a  Christian  deed  to 
tell  her  a  hundred  thousand  lies  if 
they  would  have  kept  her  alive.  How 
came  you  here,  anyhow,  madam  ?  " 

"  She  sent  for  me,"  said  Mrs.  But- 
ton, quite  cowed  by  the  furious,  dis- 
regardful  anger  of  the  doctor,  all 
the  more  appalling  from  its  contrast 
with  his  usual  genial  and  pleasant 
manner. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it," 
said  Doctor  Veroil,  bluntby.  The 
frowzy  girl  who  had  been  crying 
quietly  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  here 
arose,  and  snuffling  and  drawing  the 
back  of  her  dirty  hand  across  her 
ej'es,  drew  the  doctor  one  side  and 
said  something  to  him  under  her 
breath.  As  she  was  doing  so,  Ad- 
nan  espied  a  photograph  on  the  little 
mantel-piece,  which  to  his  surprise 
he  thought  he  recognized,  and  step- 


ping across  to  it,  he  saw  that  it  was 
indeed  a  picture  of  his  cousin  Mr. 
William  Button.  He  quietly  slipped 
it  into  his  pocket,  with  a  feeling  that 
the  ladies  had  better  not  see  it  there, 
just  as  the  doctor,  in  answer  to  the 
girl,  nodded  his  head,  saying  :  — 

"  Yes,  that  must  have  been  the 
way,  —  I  know  all  about  it  "  Then 
he  turned  to  Mrs.  Button  again,  and 
fairly  ordered  her  and  her  daughter 
off  the  premises. 

"  It's  no  place  for  you,"  he  said, 
brusquely;  "all  the  harm's  done 
that  can  be,  and  I  shall  see  to  the 
rest  myself." 

The  two  frightened  ladies  retreated 
without  resistance,  and  indeed  why 
should  they  stay  any  longer?  Nor 
did  they  recognize  Adrian,  except  by 
one  or  two  more  half-conscious  looks 
that  only  testified  to  further  astonish- 
ment. And  the  swiftness  of  the 
small  though  distressing  panorama 
gave  no  time  for  forms. 

"  Xow,"  said  the  doctor,  kindly, 
to  the  volunteer  nurse,  "  you  call  in 
somebody  to  sit  with  you  a  little 
while.  You  're  a  good  girl  for  stay- 
ing with  that  poor  child.  I  '11  send 
the  undertaker  right  away,  and  have 
everything  attended  to." 

She  obeyed,  and  upon  her  return 
in  a  few  moments  with  a  companion, 
Dr.  Veroil  and  Adrian  departed. 
Stopping  at  the  first  undertaker's 
they  could  find,  the  kind-hearted  doc- 
tor arranged  for  all  the  business  and 
ceremonial  formalities  of  the  occa- 
sion, telling  the  necropomp  to  send 
him  the  bill. 

On  their  way  home  Adrian  told 
the  doctor  about  the  picture  he  bad 
secured. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  answer  ;  "  you 
heard  the  poor  child  ask  for  Billy  ? 
Her  very  last  words.  It  was  a 
strange  enough  coincidence,  that  after 


132 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


the  son  had  ruined  her,  the  mother 
should  kill  her !  Yet  it  came  very 
naturally,  too ;  a  mere  mistake 
about  delivering  the  message.  Wo- 
men must  have  —  at  least,  a  good 
many  of  them  must  —  somebody  to 
love.  If  they  have  nobody,  they 
make  one.  That  poor  child,  now, 
loved  that  miserable  young  beast  — 
beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Chester,  but 
it 's  true  —  with  all  her  heart. 
Never  saw  a  lovelier  little  thing  in  all 
my  life  —  a  little  sewing-girl  she  was 
—  than  she  was  four  years  ago,  when 
she  first  came  crying  to  me  to  help 
her  in  her  shame.  I  would  n't  do 
what  she  wanted,  but  I  tried  to  help 
her.  She  went  desperate,  however, 
as  the  sensitive  ones  are  likely  to.  I 
could  n't  do  anything  for  her.  There 
was  some  pretty  rough  villany  of 
some  kind,  for  her  health  broke  down 
at  the  same  time,  just  as  she  jumped 
overboard  into  the  street.  My  God  ! 
I  wish  such  a  man  could  inflict  noth- 
ing except  what  he  had  to  endure 
himself !  "  And  the  benevolent  phy- 
sician groaned  in  mingled  anger  and 
pity.  Adrian  quietl}-  took  the  picture 
out  of  his  pocket,  and  tearing  it  into 
small  bits,  sprinkled  it  out  into  the 
street. 

AVheu  the}*  had  returned  to  Dr. 
Veroil's  office,  Adrian  took  his  leave, 
and  once  more  set  out  for  Mr.  But- 
ton's, now,  indeed,  only  one  or  two 
blocks  away.  But  whether  for  fear 
of  being  questioned  by  the  ladies 
about  his  presence  .with  Dr.  Veroil, 
or  for  some  other  reason,  he  certainly 
sought  excuses  in  his  own  mind  for 
not  going  directly  thither.  As  ex- 
cuses are  not  as  scarce  as  diamonds, 
any  more  than  they  are  as*  valuable, 
it  was  not  long  before  he  remembered 
that  Mrs.  and  Miss  Button  would 
have  none  too  much  time  to  get  ready 
for  church  ;  and  he  accordingly  turned 


his  steps  with  deliberation  towards 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Toomston's  church, 
purposing  to  attend  divine  service 
there,  and  then  to  go  home  with 
his  friends  to  dinner. 

The  church  in  question  was  one  of 
those  shrewd  real-estate  investments 
whose  success  may  be  supposed  to 
have  furnished  to  the  operators  that 
contentment  without  which,  the 
apostle  seems  to  imply,  godliness  is 
not  much  of  a  gain  (I  Tim.  vi,  6). 
Its  site  had  been  judiciously  made  so 
large  as  to  include  one  or  two  even 
lots  by  wa}*  of  churclryard,  over  and 
above  both  the  church  itself  and  the 
adjoining  parsonage.  Thus  the  rise 
in  real  estate  in  that  very  aristocratic 
part  of  the  city  was  certain,  whenever 
the  time  of  removal  should  come 
(really  it  would  be  a  great  saving  if 
they  would  build  New  York  churches 
on  wheels),  to  secure  to  the  society, 
which  of  course  paid  no  taxes  on  its 
real  estate,  another  excellent  building 
lot,  and  probably  plentj-  of  money 
besides  to  put  up  a  new  church  and 
also  to  establish  a  church  fund.  The 
edifice,  as  becomes  a  Calvinistic 
organization  of  the  stricter  sort, 
was  a  very  elaborate  and  magnificent 
structure  of  white  marble.  Church 
interiors  are  nowadays  mostly  on 
one  of  three  plans  :  the  jail  plan,  very 
gloomy  and  cold  ;  the  town-hall  plan, 
like  a  barn  with  benches  ;  or  the  par- 
lor plan,  a  comfortable  room  with 
seats  for  listening  to  a  friend's  dis- 
course. Doctor  Toomston's  church 
was  a  parlor,  a  little  jailed.  That  is, 
it  was  splendidly  upholstered,  painted, 
and  decorated,  as  a  ritualist  —  beg 
pardon,  a  strictly  Calvinist  —  church 
is  directed  in  the  New  Testament  to 
be  ;  but  the  rich,  dark,  stained  glass 
windows,  very  heaviby  mullioned  and 
deeply  set  in  the  thick  walls,  and  the 
dark  colors  which  prevailed  in  all  the 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


133 


interior  finishing,  greatly  obscured 
what  would  have  been  the  effect  if  the 
large  and  well-proportioned  room  had 
been  finished,  say,  in  white  and  gra}*, 
or  white  and  lavender,  with  a  very 
few  high  lights,  and  a  very  few  dark 
lines,  and  with  plain  glass  windows. 

Adrian,  entering,  was  accosted  by 
a  white  waistcoat  and  accoutrements, 
with  a  trig  yet  serious  young  man 
inside  of  it,  who,  by  one  of  those 
irresistible  improprieties  that  some- 
times torment  the  most  devout,  re- 
minded the  visitor  of  the  undertaker 
at  a  fashionable  funeral,  but  who,  on 
request,  politely  escorted  him  through 
the  gloom  of  the  great  building  to 
Mr.  Button's  pew  (the  fifth  from  the 
front,  middle  aisle,  right  hand  as  you 
go  up).  It  was  just  in  time,  as  it 
happened ;  and  Mr.  Button  himself, 
sitting  next  the  pew  door,  looked 
round  as  the  usher  touched  his  shoul- 
der ;  arose,  bowed  silently  and  grave- 
ly, motioned  Adrian  to  enter,  and 
then  resumed  his  own  place.  Mrs. 
Button  was  already  at  her  post,  the 
inner  end  of  the  pew ;  Mr.  William 
Button  was  next,  and  Miss  Ann  Ja- 
cintha  Button  next,  so  that  the  hap- 
py Adrian  was  between  his  intended 
spouse  and  his  intended  father-in-law. 
Short  of  heaven,  few  positions  can  be 
imagined  more  delightful. 

The  service  was  the  usual  one  :  two 
psalms  or  hymns,  short  prayer  and 
long  prayer,  and  a  sermon.  "A  ser- 
mon," says  some  scoffer,  "  is  that  part 
of  divine  service  which  does  not 
consist  of  the  worship  of  God."  How 
can  it,  indeed?  Worship  goes  up, 
sermons  come  down.  The  worship 
of  God  must  be  addressed  to  God ; 
sermons  are  addressed  to  men. 

"  My  text,  on  the  present  occa- 
sion," said  good  Doctor  Toomston, 
erecting  his  long  and  bony  figure  in 
the  sacred  desk,   after  the  second 


the  First  Psalm,  —  "  will  be  found  in 
the  Second  Epistle  of  Paul  to  the 
Corinthians,  sixth  chapter,  part  of 
the  fourteenth  verse :  '  Be  }"e  not 
unequally  yoked  together  with  un- 
believers.' " 

It  is  a  great  pity  that  there  is  not 
room  for  a  full  verbatim  report  of 
this  sound  and  seasonable  discourse. 
But  as  there  is  not,  a  very  few  hints 
must  suffice.  The  main  point  argued 
by  the  doctor  was,  the  incompatibil- 
ity of  the  objects  in  life  —  and  in 
death  —  of  the  Christian  and  of  the 
sinner ;  and  from  this  he  concluded 
that  the  psalmist  and  the  apostle  to 
the  Gentiles  both  taught,  agreeably, 
moreover,  to  common-sense,  that 
there  should  be  a  distinct  wall  of 
separation  between  them.  This  wall, 
of  course,  was  church  membership. 
The  practical  application  was  an  ur- 
gent appeal  to  those  already  in  the 
church,  to  let  their  walk  and  conver- 
sation show  their  heavenly  calling ; 
so  that  "  men  should  take  knowl- 
edge of  them,"  quoted  the  preacher, 
"  that  they  had  been  with  Jesus." 

The  discourse,  as  a  whole,  seemed 
to  Adrian,  from  the  very  beginning, 
conventional,  monotonous,  and  unim- 
pressive. But  he  reflected  that  he 
had  heard  just  such  sermons  twice  a 
day  on  nearly  every  Sunday  since  he 
could  remember  ;  and  with  a  natural 
instinct  for  complete  judgments,  he 
set  himself  to  fiud  the  good  of  it 
also.  This  was  easy  to  find ;  the 
sermon  was  translucent  with  sincere 
and  unconditional  piety,  faith,  and 
love.  Merit  enough,  said  Adrian  to 
himself.  How  can  it  be  so  lifeless 
to  me?  Am  I  a  vessel  of  Avrath, 
fitted  to  destruction,  —  created  on 
purpose  to  be  damned  for  the  glory 
of  God?  "Ah,  I  have  found  it," 
he  said  in  a  moment ;    "  these  good 


134 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


qualities  are  the  doctor's  own,  and 
they  '  shine  up '  his  theolog}-.  Let 
me  read  that  sermon  in  print,"  —  and 
in  spite  of  him,  the  irreverent  com- 
parison of  Doctor  Veroil  popped  into 
his  mind,  about  putting  religion  into 
theological  expressions. 

There  were,  moreover,  divers  mat- 
ters connected  with  the  sermon  which 
had  for  Adrian  much  interest.  As 
he  listened  to  one  dry  conventional 
phrase  after  another,  he  kept  admir- 
ing the  parallelism  between  the  per- 
fectly sufficient  sense,  clearness,  and 
even  noticeable  strength  and  cogency 
of  the  statements,  all,  nevertheless, 
utterly  without  grace,  eloquence,  or 
proportion,  and  the  personal  appear- 
ance and  bearing  of  the  speaker : 
strong,  homely,  manly  enough,  but 
perfect  in  a  long  and  wooden  ungrace- 
fulness,  which,  if  it  had  been  con- 
scious, would  have  been  awkwardness 
even  to  agon}'.  Then,  he  observed 
how  exclusively  the  sermon  was  ad- 
dressed to  Christians  ;  insomuch  that 
he  caught  himself  repeating  a  varia- 
tion on  a  text  —  "This  is  a  faithful 
saying,  and  worthy  of  all  acceptation, 
that  Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world 
to  save  Christians  — ■  of  whom  ive  are 
chief;"  and  again,  "For  I  am  not 
come  to  call  sinners,  but  the  righteous, 
to  repentance."  This  sentiment  oc- 
casioned him,  however,  an  astonish- 
ment all  at  once,  when,  at  the  very 
end  of  his  discourse,  the  good  old 
doctor,  as  if  he  had  suddenly  re- 
membered that  there  was  a  sinner  or 
two  left,  seemed  to  throw  over  a  buoy 
into  the  dark  waves  of  their  guilt  for 
them  to  catch  if  they  could,  while  he 
sailed  triumphantly  away  to  glory 
with  his  shipful  of  Christians.  He 
diverged,  to  speak  without  figures, 
into  a  brief  appeal  to  sinners,  by  way 
of  appendix  or  vermiform  process  ; 
begiuning  with    the    words,   "  And 


now,  a  few  words  to  you,  my  impeni- 
tent hearers,  if  any  such  be  present," 
—  and  proceeding  in  sentences  of 
admonition  and  warning,  that,  like  a 
good  deal  of  the  previous  discourse, 
seemed  to  have  been  used  over  and 
oyer  before,  as  they  build  second- 
hand bricks  into  a  new  wall.  Still 
more  observable  was  an  indescribable 
tone  or  sentiment  or  something,  which 
seemed  to  Adrian  as  if  the  doctor  was 
saying  to  himself,  "It  won't  do  a  bit 
of  good  —  you'll  be  damned  airvhow, 
but  it's  proper  and  usual  to  sa}r  some- 
thing of  this  kind,  so,  here  !  "  Adri- 
an's own  reflection  was,  that  Christ 
used  to  begin  with  these  same  poor 
fellows,  the  sinners. 

Less  excusable  were  the  observa- 
tions which  Adrian  made  upon  the 
gestures  of  the  preacher.  It  was  not 
that  the  divine  seemed  out  of  place. 
Quite  otherwise ;  he  .always  seemed 
out  of  place  anywhere  else.  What  it 
was  could  not  easily  have  been  stated 
in  words  ;  but  there  was  certainly 
something,  in  spite  of  all  his  homeli- 
ness and  woodenness  of  motion,  that 
impressed  the  hearer  with  the  feeling 
that  the  sacred  desk  was  the  only 
proper  place  for  him  ;  one  might  even 
fancy  that  he  lived  there,  like  an  ar- 
tificial man  in  his  show-box.  But  his 
gestures  were  so  original,  so  queer,  so 
unexpected.  In  vain  would  3-011  search 
for  them  in  any  book,  or  watch  for 
them  in  any  concourse  or  resort  of 
orators.  Indeed,  certain  of  these  ma- 
noeuvres were  almost  contortions,  as 
if  the  worthy  doctor  were  wrestling 
desperately  with  some  great  thought, 
in  his  intense  desire  to  body  it  forth 
through  motion  ;  insomuch  that  Adri- 
an secretly  indulged  in  a  few  hasty- 
sketches  of  two  or  three  of  them  on 
a  fly-leaf  of  the  hymn-book.  Two 
shall  be  given  here.  Perhaps  they 
may  be  the  beginning  of  a  wholly 


Scrape  i   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


135 


new  school  of  pulpit  gesture  and  ex- 
pression —  who  knows  ?  Toomston 
is  as  good  a  name  as  Delsarte,  any 
day.  The  first  of  these  (see  Fig.  1) 
illustrated  a  striking  comparison  used 
\)j  the  doctor  in  the  course  of  his  ap- 
peal for  the  Christian  life.  He  was 
enlarging  upon  the  trifling  and  tran- 
sitory nature  of  this  life,  and  the 
uncertainty  and  blindness  in  which 
we  poor  human  beings  flit  as  it  were 
to  and  fro  in  dark  and  purposeless 
waj'S  ;  and  wound  up  a  period  with 
the  words,  "  We  glide  vainly  hither 
and  thither,  like  little  fishes  within 
the  Stream  of  Time."  At  these  words, 
holding  forth  his  large  and  bony  hands 
in  the  very  fish-like  attitude  of  Fig.  1, 
he  brandished  them  back  and  forth 
from  the  shoulder,  past  each  other, 
with  an  indescribable  furious  angu- 
larity, which  the  cut  cannot  show  at 
all,  but  even  more  wonderfully  op- 
posed to  the  flexible,  swift  ease  of  a 


same  time  pictured  forth  with  the 
following  noble  manual  diagram  (see 
Fig.  2),  but  dancing  the  two  fingers 
thus  daintily  conjoined  up  and  down 
at  arms'  end,  before  the  audience,  in  a 
manner  that  greatly  strengthened  the 
impression,  and  which,  as  before,  the 
cut,  most  unfortunately,  cannot  give. 


Fig.  1.    Little  Fishes. 

fish's  movements,  than  were  the  rug- 
ged outlines  of  the  hands  themselves, 
to  the  subtle,  sinuous  grace  of  a  fish's 
form.  Again,  in  setting  forth,  by  way 
of  contrast  to  this  vain  and  unprofit- 
able activity,  the  steady  progress  of 
the  consistent  Christian,  from  one 
grade  of  spiritual  attainment  to  an- 
other, he  enforced  the  assei'tion  of  the 
final  splendor  of  the  believer's  glory, 
at  the  end  of  the  laborious  ascent,  in 
the  words  "  until  at  last  he  attains 
unto  the  stature  of  perfect  upright- 
ness," which  uprightness  he  at  the 


Fig.  2.    Perfect  Uprightness. 

A  third  almost  equally  stirring 
ppeal,  was  that  in  the  afterthought 
to  impenitent  friends,  where  he  cried 
out  to  the  young  men  that  were  rush- 
ing to  destruction,  displaying  at  the 
same  time  a  full  front  elevation 
of  both  hands  as  if  to  push  the 
foolish  fellows  back  again,  "  Pause, 
young  men,  pause  !  "  A  laugh  that 
rises  in  church  is  always  awfully 
hard  to  stifle  ;  Adrian  had  to  pretend 
to  cough,  and  covered  his  mouth 
with  one  hand,  and  managed  not  to  be 
openly  indecent ;  he  heard  Mr.  William 
Button  snigger  at  the  same  moment. 
Instead  of  filing  slowly  out  along 
with  ordinary  people  when  the  service 
was  over  and  the  benediction  pro- 
nounced, Mr.  Button  and  his  family 
sat  still  until  all  that  part  of  the 
church  was  almost  empty.  Then 
Dr.  Toomston  came  gravely  down 
from  the  sacred  desk,  and  greeted 
several  persons  who  had  lingered 
near  out  of  friendship  or  on  some 
Sunday  errand.  Then  Mr.  Button 
arose,  he  and  all  his  house,  and  stood 
in  a  group  in  the  aisle,  and  the  doc- 
tor came  and  talked  with  them. 


136 


Scrope;   ory  The  Lost  Library, 


PART  VII. 


CHAPTER  XX. 
Evert  first-class  New  York  capi- 
talist keeps  a  tame  minister.  Mr. 
Button,  who  meant  to  rank  as  high 
as  lie  could  in  his  vocation,  had 
with  judicious  foresight,  provided  this 
amongst  his  other  apparatus.  Dr. 
Toomston,  it  is  true,  did  not  see  the 
matter  in  this  light.  How  should 
he  ?  All  that  he,  or  anj'body  else 
unfamiliar  with  financiering,  could 
have  seen,  was,  the  shrewd,  ener- 
getic, successful  conduct  of  Mr.  But- 
ton in  organizing  and  maintaining 
..he  church.  Further  than  this,  the 
doctor  was  onlv  the  beloved  pastor  ; 
petted,  waited  on,  endowed  with 
manj'  gifts,  regularly  carried  home 
to  dinner  every  Sunday  to  hear  his 
sermon  and  himself  and  his  church 
and  all  their  doings  talked  over  and 
praised.  None  the  less  was  the  good 
old  doctor  an  instrument  of  the  long- 
headed business  man.  For  Mr.  But- 
ton, besides  his  love  of  money,  nour- 
ished another  ambition.  He  wanted 
fame  and  office,  and  within  some  ten 
or  fifteen  3-ears  he  meant  to  have 
them,  too  ;  and  he  knew  full  well  that 
next  to  being  an  eminent  Sunday- 
school  superintendent,  nothing  what- 
ever is  a  better  basis  for  great  enter- 
prises, either  in  money  or  in  politics, 
than  being  the  premier  member  of  a 
church. 

The  house  of  Button  never  rode  on 
the  Sabbath.   Not  to  be  superstitious 


affectation  of  a  cold-meat  dinner  was 
not  practised  ;  indeed,  the  meal  was 
commonly  a  little  bit  of  a  feast.  Mr. 
Button  had  a  good  deal  of  that  sort 
of  hospitality  which  often  goes  with 
a  vigorous  digestion,  a  full  pocket, 
and  an  ambition  of  popularity.  He 
almost  always  fed  his  tame  minister 
at  his  Sunda}r  dinner,  as  they  feed 
the  wild  beasts  on  public  days  ;  and 
he  kept  out  a  standing  invitation  to 
Mr.  Van  Braam  and  Civille  and  to 
Dr.  Veroil.  The  former  two  came 
quite  often,  the  doctor  veiy  seldom. 
To-day  they  were  all  present ;  the 
physician,  perhaps,  proposing  to  do 
something  or  to  see  something  which 
might  serve  him  in  whatever  he  pro- 
posed in  behalf  of  Civille. 

With  small  delay  —  for  this  house- 
hold was  well  ordered — 'the  dinner 
was  served.  It  was  a  bounteous  and 
toothsome  meal,  and  well  garnished 
and  supplemented  by  conversation  ; 
for  the  Americans  are  neither  like 
those  old  beasts  of  classic  heroes, 
who,  like  so  man}'  Esquimaux,  with 
blubber  pared  off  even  with  their 
lips,  could  not  speak  until  "  the  sa- 
cred rage  of  hunger  was  appeased," 
nor  like  a  boa-constrictor,  who,  after 
eating,  cannot  sa^y  a  word  until  he 
has  digested  the  goat  he  has  gorged. 
There  was  plenty  of  talk,  aud  it 
meant  something.  And  it  was  a 
noticeable  company,  and  pretty  cu- 
riously assorted,  too,  both  mentally 
and  physically.    Mr.  Button  himself 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


137 


sat  at  the  head  of  the  table  and 
his  spouse  at  the  foot.  Mrs.  Button 
and  her  daughter  were  alike  enough 
for  their  relationship,  and  different 
enough  for  the  difference  in  their 
blood.  The  mother  was  a  tall  per- 
son, somewhat  bony  and  wooden- 
looking,  swarthy  of  skin,  with  harsh, 
large  features,  great,  cold,  strong 
black  eyes,  under  strong  black  brows, 
and  abundant  and  rather  coarse  hair, 
erst  coal-black,  now  fast  turning  gray. 
Despising  dyes,  she  disposed  of  this, 
in  part,  in  three  rolls,  or  horizontal 
curls,  of  a  cast-iron  appearance, — 
for  they  were  iron-gray  of  color  and 
iron-hard  of  look,  —  at  either  side 
of  her  face.  The  rest  was  decently 
covered  by  a  plain  cap.  Her  fore- 
head was  rather  low  and  narrow,  but 
full  in  the  lower  centre,  as  much 
as  to  say :  I  am  quick-witted,  un- 
imaginative, practical,  and  not  kind- 
hearted  ;  if  I  do  any  charity,  for  in- 
stance, it  is  on  business  principles. 
But  the  chief  emphasis  of  the  face 
was  laid  upcm  the  nose,  which  was 
big,  too  thick  at  the  tip,  and  pinched 
and  lifted  inward  at  ,the  wings  of  the 
nostrils,  as  if  by  a  final  jerk  with 
thumb  and  finger  by  the  sculptor  of 
the  face  ;  so  that  two  strong  marks 
or  creases  were  left  diverging  down- 
wards past  the  ends  of  the  mouth. 

As  the  good  lady  was  of  the  Goo- 
kin  family,  she  had,  along  with  their 
other  qualities,  their  well-known  per- 
sistency of  character  :  a  kind  of  per- 
severance of  the  saints,  in  that  sense 
which  means  incapacity  for  receiving 
new  impressions.  This  appeared,  for 
instance,  equally  in  two  very  dissim- 
ilar things :  her  theology  and  her 
manners.  Both  remained  without 
perceptible  modification  from  what 
they  had  been  in  the  rustic  home  of 
her  father,  old  Gookin  the  distiller, 
in  the  ancient  town  of  Windsor  in 


Connecticut.  The  manners  were  those 
of  the  Gookins,  —  no  more  need  be 
said.  The  theology  may  be  described 
by  a  chemical  metaphor,  as  Gookin- 
ate  of  Calvinism.  It  had  the  uncom- 
promising rigidity  of  the  stern  old 
minister  of  her  youth,  who,  if  possi- 
ble more  unchangeable  still,  repre- 
sented almost  as  a  mirror  an  extreme 
Edwardeanism.  This,  stiffened  by 
his  own  iron  will,  had  stiffened  still 
more  in  the  mind  of  Miss  Gookin, 
which,  with  still  less  breadth  than 
the  old  pastor's,  had  also  even  less 
capacity,  if  possible,  for  growth  or 
change. 

Ann  and  Civille  sat  together.  They 
had  come  down-stairs  together  from 
the  parlor  to  the  basement  dining- 
room,  walking  next  before  Adrian 
and  Dr.  Veroil,  their  arms  round 
each  other's  waists,  according  to  the 
loving  ways  of  3'oung  girls  some- 
times, whether  they  love  each  other 
or  not.  Adrian  had  been  watching 
them,  without  meaning  to,  —  as  is 
the  natural  action  of  intense  perceiv- 
ers  ;  and  as  his  mind  jjfas  of  that 
class  that  instinctively  sees  things 
by  couples  or  groups,  and  discerns 
resemblances  and  differences,  he  had 
noticed  the  difference  in  their  figures 
and  movements.  Civille's  "shoulders 
were  sloping  ;  Ann's  were  no  broad- 
er, perhaps  narrower,  but  square. 
Among  a  hundred  square-shouldered 
women  there  will  be  found  more  who 
are  coarse-grained  and  vulgar  than 
among  a  hundred  with  sloping  shoul- 
ders. Civille's  form  was  round,  Ann's 
fiat.  Civille's  step  was  undulating, 
easy ;  the  volitional,  gliding  motion 
of  a  goddess.  Ann's  was  a  hitch  ; 
she  walked  like  a  saw-horse.  But 
all  the  same,  —  Adrian  noticed  this 
also,  —  they  moved  their  inside  feet 
together.  This  is  a  great  mystery. 
"Why  is  it  that  two  women  almost 


138 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


always  keep  step  in  that  way?  Two 
men  walking  together  put  out  the 
two  left  feet  together,  and  then  the 
two  right ;  but  two  women  put  out 
the  two  inside  feet,  then  the  two  out- 
side.    Wiry  is  it? 

"  Why  is  it?  "  asked  Adrian,  soft- 
ly, of  the  doctor. 

"  For  the  same  reason  that  makes 
them  alwa}Ts  step  on  or  oif  a  street 
car  with  the  wrong  foot,"  replied  the 
physician,  "  and  take  hold  with  the 
wrong  hand  at  the  same  time.  They 
are  never  taught  to  handle  them- 
selves. It 's  one  of  women's  wrongs." 

They  sat  down  at  table.  The  faces 
of  the  two  young  women,  as  they  sat 
together  opposite  Adrian,  formed 
even  a  more  striking  contrast  than 
their  figures  and  motions.  Girdle's 
face  —  so  pale  and  clear-hued  ;  so 
quiet,  refined,  and  sweet ;  lighted  by 
the  large,  soft,  thoughtful  gray  eyes 
—  suggested  to  Adrian,  by  some 
hidden  train  of  associations,  a  dis- 
tant night-view  he  had  once  seen  of 
a  lofty  white  marble  building  illu- 
minated. The  light,  whatever  it 
was,  was  a  little  ros}^,  and  throbbed 
and  glimmered ;  and  at  the  dis- 
tance, as  he  well  remembered,  the 
effect  was,  not  as  of  stone  lighted 
from  without,  but  as  of  a  mysterious 
living  thing,  all  instinct  and  puls- 
ing with  a  fulness  of  silent,  gleam- 
ing light  from  within  itself,  —  a  liv- 
ing; white  light,  rose-tinted. 

It  was  his  betrothed  who  sat  next 
Civiile,  and  nearly  opposite  him.  No 
matter :  he  could  not,  for  all  that, 
help  it,  that  as  he  looked  at  them  the 
thought  came  into  his  mind  —  "Light 
and  Darkness."  Miss  Button's  face 
was  low-browed,  the  forehead  being 
modelled  after  her  mother's  ;  not  low- 
browed like  the  lovely  Clytie,  because 
abundant  hair  grew  low  upon  the 
head,  but  because  the  brain-pan  was 


shallow  and  flat  above.  It  was  nar- 
nower,  too,  than  her  mother's  ;  so 
that,  with  about  the  same  quickness 
and  sharpness  of  mere  perceptive  in- 
tellect, the  daughter  had  even  less 
indication  of  the  combining  and  re- 
flecting mental  faculties.  Of  the  still 
higher  range  which  phrenology  so 
beautifully  describes  as  towering 
above  even  the  philosophic  part  of 
the  intellect,  —  of  ideality,  and  its 
related  spiritual  powers  at  either 
hand,  with  benevolence  for  the  key- 
stone in  the  midst  above,  —  of  this 
Ann's  front  head  was  almost  as  des- 
titute as  if  the  layers  of  brain  had 
been  shaved  off.  Adrian  was  a  be- 
liever, not  only  in  the  mental  analysis 
which  belongs  to  phrenolog,y,  and 
which  has  quietly  become  accepted 
even  by  its  opponents,  solely  because 
it  is  so  true,  but  also  to  a  considerable 
extent  in  the  corresponding  doctrine 
of  regions  of  the  brain  ;  and,  indeed, 
he  habitually  used  this  doctrine  to 
aid  him  in  judgments  of  character. 
The  contrast  between  the  two  girls 
flashed  upon  him  all  at  once  after 
j-ears  in  which  he  might  have  seen  it, 
as  is  often  the  case  with  even  the 
most  striking  of  contrasts,  and  to 
the  quickest  of  perceivers.  Proba- 
bly, it  is  true,  they  had  never  been 
displayed  to  him  so  closely  together. 
Certainly,  he  had  never  been  placed 
near  the  couple  with  such  a  close  and 
living  sense  of  having  a  relation  with 
each  of  them.  The  contrast  between 
the  soft  glowing  light  and  life,  the 
spiritual  sweetness  of  the  one  expres- 
sion, and  the  close  and  almost  sullen 
look  of  the  other,  shone  upon  the 
young  man's  mind,  sensitive  beyond 
the  common  average  to  impressions, 
already  stirred  and  stimulated  by 
the  morning's  experiences  beyond 
its  own  usual  vividness  of  perception  ; 
this   consciousness   shone   or  rather 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


139 


flashed  upon  him  with  a  stroke  so 
sharp  that  he  absolutely  started  and 
shut  his  eyes,  as  if  smitten  by  a  too 
sudden  sunlight.  He  looked  again, 
discerning  the  forms  and  colors  and 
the  characters  they  denoted,  too,  in 
this  intensity  of  perceiving,  with  such 
a  power  of  seeing  that  he  almost  felt 
as  if  he  ought  not  to  look.  Civille, 
indeed,  in  a  moment,  felt  him  ;  and 
lifted  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him 
with  a  surprised  glance,  and  then 
with  a  smile,  as  much  as  to  say : 
"  What  —  you  are  looking  at  me,  are 
you  !  Well,  look  :  man,  and  God, 
may  see  all  my  thoughts."  But  Ann 
did  not  feel  nor  know  what  Adrian 
was  about. 

So  he  beheld  with  a  sense  of  dis- 
pleasure, which  made  him  feel  very 
wicked  at  experiencing  it,  the  traits 
of  his  chosen.  Her  narrow  forehead 
seemed  to  grow  narrower ;  her  com- 
plexion and  her  black  hair  looked  so 
;oarse  beside  the  exceptional  silky 
and  satiny  texture  of  Civille's  hair 
and  cheek  ;  her  black  eyes,  sharp  and 
bead}7  and  rather  sunken,  almost 
went  out  of  sight  beside  those  of 
Civille,  large,  limpid,  and  so  clear 
that  they  seemed  full  of  a  light  of 
their  own ;  her  nose,  always  short 
and  small,  —  it  had  missed  both  the 
largeness  of  her  mother's,  and  the 
goodly  solidity  of  her  father's,  — 
became  a  positive  snub  before  him  ; 
her  lips,  rather  thin,  and  with  a  posi- 
tive set  in  them,  seemed  to  grip  ;  her 
black  brows  frowned.  Both  the  young 
women  were  too  thin  in  flesh.  Adrian 
was  not  reasoning,  while  thus  expe- 
riencing spontaneous  intuition,  and 
therefore  he  did  not  conclude  with 
his  judgment,  although  it  impressed 
him,  that  while  Civille  only  needed 
good  health  to  become  singularly  per- 
fect in  form,  Ann,  on  the  other  side, 
had  already  lost  even  the  measure  of 


youthful  roundness  which  she  had 
possessed,  had  even  now  begun  what 
must,  with  her,  be  a  long  and  un- 
broken declension  through  degrees 
of  skinniness. 

Not  with  repulsion,  but  with  a  feel- 
ing of  guilt  for  being  capable  of 
seeing  her  defects,  did  Adrian  thus 
behold.  And  as  he  saw  upon  Miss 
Button's  finger  the  plain  gold  ring  he 
had  given  her  a  year  or  two  before, 
he  felt  for  the  first  time  that  he  was 
held.  Losing  recollection  for  a  mo- 
ment, he  said  aloud,  in  an  unconscious 
way,  — 

"  Ah  !  Number  Eleven  !  " 

Ann  started,  blushed,  and  looked 
across  at  her  lover  with  distinct  dis- 
pleasure. He,  recovering  himself, 
begged  a  thousand  pardons  ;  but  she 
did  not  look  satisfied.  He  had  of- 
fended one  of  her  deepest  instincts 
—  that  of  concealing.  On  the  inside 
of  her  ring,  wThen  he  gave  it  to  her, 
Adrian  had  caused  to  be  engraved  a 
fanciful,  perhaps  even  fantastic,  de- 
vice, being  no  other  than  the  four 
words  of  the  last  clause  but  one  in 
the  twentieth  verse  of  the  twenty-first 
chapter  of  the  Revelation  :  "  The 
eleventh,  A.  Jacinth."  This  he  had 
never  told  except  to  her ;  she  loved 
secrets  ;  he  had  frequently  called  her 
his  number  eleven,  besides  pretty 
things  about  her  being  his  own  special 
jewelled  wray  to  heaven,  and  the  like. 
And  in  this  inopportune  moment 
he  had  so  nearly  told  the  whole  to 
this  company !  It  was  a  deeper 
offence  than  he  knew  ;  and  hers  was 
not  a  mind  to  forget  offences. 

In  this  company  were  curious  op- 
positions and  agreements.  Dr.  Toom- 
ston  represented  an  old-fashioned, 
trained,  somewhat  scholarly  Calvin- 
ist  theology.  Mrs.  Button  and  Ann 
the  same,  but  with  prejudice  and  ig- 
norance, and  natural  hardness  and 


140 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


obstinacy,  in  place  of  a  sincerely 
convinced  reason.  In  Civille  was  a 
spiritual  religion,  but  without  sect, 
undervaluing  and  neglecting  form, 
and  tending  to  unmeasured  avowal 
and  unreasoning  and  unconditional 
self-sacrifice.  Her  father's  religion 
was  as  hers,  but  colored  by  his  mys- 
ticist  tendency,  and  usually  hidden 
under  natural  habits  of  silent  medi- 
tation and  shy  concealment  of  the 
deepest  thoughts,  and  under  the  fur- 
ther cover  that  the  experience  of  an 
undervalued  soul  had  taught  him  to 
use  a  cover  of  half-sarcastic,  half- 
paradoxical  quasi  denials  and  que- 
ries. Adrian's  religion  had  neither 
Civille's  unmeasured  demonstrative- 
ness,  nor  her  father's  inverted,  sad 
secretiveness.  It  was,  perhaps,  as 
thorough-going  and  as  deep  ;  but  the 
strength  and  activity  of  his  vivid 
health  and  youth  made  it  his  proper 
office  at  present  to  pursue  after  and 
accomplish  things  to  be  done,  more 
than  to  experience  sentiments  or  ex- 
press views.  All  these  six  may  be 
reckoned  Christians,  after  some  fash- 
ion. As  for  the  rest,  hardly.  Mr. 
Button  was  a  man  of  business.  Dr. 
Veroil  was  a  doctor.  Mr.  William 
Button, .  Not  that  the  condi- 
tions in  life  of  these  three  were 
necessarily  inconsistent  with  the 
Christian  profession  or  practice ; 
only,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  had 
them  not. 

The}-  talked,  beginning  thus  :  — 
Mr.  Button.  {Rapping  thrice,  sol- 
emnly, with  his  knife-handle  upon  the 
table.)    "  Doctor,  will  3-ou  ask  a  bles- 
sing ?  " 

Dr.  Toomston.  (Closing  his  eyes, 
and  stretching  forth  his  right  hand  to 
a  great  distance  among  the  dishes,  as 
if  feeling  for  something  to  be  thankful 
for,  and  holding  it  with  the  thumb 
erect  and  fingers  extended.)     "Our. 


Father  who  art  in  Heaven,  bless  unto 
us,  we  beseech  thee,  and  consecrate 
unto  tlry  glory  all  that  we  have  and 
do,  and  in  an  especial  manner  this 
thy  holy  day,  and  bless  and  sanctify 
unto  us  at  this  time  the  provisions 
which  thy  bounty  spreadeth  here  be- 
fore us,  and  may  the  same  and  all 
thy  other  loving-kindnesses  unto  us 
be  improved  to  thy  honor  and  glor}'. 
Amen." 

Mr.  Button.  (Carving  and  dis 
tributing  the  turkey  ivith  skill  and 
judgment.)  "  Mother,  give  Dr.  Toom- 
ston  plenty  of  gravy.  Dr.  Veroil,  3-ou 
like  the  second  jint.  You  're  a  sur- 
geon, so  I  '11  let  you  git  that  side- 
bone  off  3'ourself,  —  rather  3-011  M  be 
a-cuttin'  off  the  turkey's  legs  than 
mine,  any  day.  Adrian,  what  part  '11 
3-ou  have  ?  " 

Adrian.  (Preoccupied.)  "I've  no 
choice." 

Mr.  Button.  "  Wal,  then  here  's 
the  neck.  Oilers  choose  somethin' 
yourself,  young  man,  or  somebod3T  '11 
make  a  miss  choice  for  ye.  Ha,  ha  ! 
But  I  '11  allow  3'e  a  good  slice  of  the 
breast  to  make  out  with." 

It  is  impracticable,  however,  to 
report  the  conversation  in  full  at 
this  time,  interesting  as  it  was.  It 
began,  after  the  distributive  intro- 
duction, with  observations  on  the  dis- 
course of  the  morning,  and  diverged 
variously  from  the  main  theme  of 
Christian  separatism,  sometimes  to 
topics  having  a  distinctly  secular 
character.  At  such  times,  however, 
if  no  one  else  returned  to  the  order 
of  the  day,  Mrs.  Button  did,  charging 
straight  "  across  lots,"  if  necessary  ; 
and  once  with  the  plain  remark,  in 
reply  to  certain  words  of  Adrian's, 
in  which  she  apprehended  a  mirthful 
quality,— 

"  There,  there  !  .  This  is  frivolous. 
We  can  occupy  ourselves,  I  trust, 


Scrojye;   or,   The  Lost  Library. 


141 


with  move  serious  thoughts  on  this 
sacred  day." 

"But,  my  dear  madam,"  respond- 
ed Adrian,  "  mirthfulness  is  not  ne- 
cessarily frivolous.  And  we  are 
ordered  to  rejoice  before  the  Lord, 
and  to  be  noisy  about  it,  too  ;  to  make 
a  loud  noise,  and  rejoice,  and  sing 
praise." 

"  I  fear,  nry  .young  friend,  that  3-ou 
are  in  danger  of  being,  not  merely 
frivolous,  but  irreverent,"  said  Doc- 
tor Toomston,  from  very  high  up  in 
the  sacred  desk. 

Mr.  Van  Braam  replied,  —  rather 
to  the  surprise  of  the  compan}', — 
and  interrupting  Adrian,  who  was 
about  to  speak  :  — 

"Stop,  Adrian  —  I'm  older  than 
Doctor  Toomston,  and  he  may  couple 
me  with  you  if  he  wants  to.  God 
made  kittens  and  monkeys  on  pur- 
pose to  be  funny.  They  are  God's 
laughter.  God  made  mirthful  young 
people  too.  Laughter  is  in  God  as 
much  as  weeping,  and  I  believe  a 
great  deal  more.  I  have  heard  that 
Professor  Agassiz  has  notes  for'  a 
book,  to  be  called  '  God  as  a  joker.'" 

Here  an  awful  groan  from  Mrs. 
Button,  and  ungodly  mirth  —  as  it 
seemed  to  the  horrified  lady  —  from 
the  doctor  of  medicine.  But  the  doc- 
tor of  divinity  was  not  at  all  dis- 
mayed, replying  with  awful  grav- 
ity :- 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  conde- 
scending to  argue  in  support  of  the  se- 
rious observance  of  the  Sabbath  day, 
or  of  a  decent  respect  for  either  the 
ordinances  or  the  ministers  of  God." 

This  was  prett}r  terrible,  and 
something  like  a  thunder-cloud  set- 
tled over  the  dinner-table  for  a  few 
moments,  in  the  midst  of  which 
Doctor  Veroil,  with  the  eye  next 
Mr.  Button,  but  farthest  from  Mrs. 
Button,   winked  upon  Adrian.     But 


he  "  caught  it"  in  his  turn,  and  once 
more  from  an  unexpected  quarter. 
It  was  Mr.  William  Button  this  time 
who  spoke,  saying  :  — 

"  'A  naughty  person,  a  wicked 
man,  walketh  with  a  froward  mouth. 
He  winketh  with  his  eyes,  he  speaketh 
with  his  feet,  he  teacheth  with  his 
fingers.'  " 

"  What  do  3tou  mean  by  that,  Wil- 
liam?" said  his  mother,  severely.  "  I 
wish  3*011  would  practise  the  precepts 
of  the  Scriptures,  instead  of  repeat- 
ing them.  '  This  people  draweth  nigh 
to  me  with  their  mouth,'  —  3-011  have 
been  trained  enough  in  them,  I'm 
sure." 

Then  Dr.  Veroil  said,  — 

"  That  walking  with  your  mouth 
is  rather  like  an  octopus,  isn't  it? 
And  if  it 's  so  naughty  to  teach  with 
your  fingers,  where  have  good  Mr. 
Gallaudet  and  Dr.  Peet  gone  to,  now 
that  they  are  dead  ?  " 

"  Come,  come,"  ordered  Mr.  But- 
ton, with  good-natured  peremptori- 
nes%  ;  "none  o'  this  scuffiin'.  I  ain't 
a-goin'  to  have  Dr.  Toomston  talked 
back  to  in  my  house  any  more  'n 
if  he  stood  in  his  own  pulpit.  There 's 
plent}^  o'  things  ye  can  all  agree  on, 
and  now  agree  on  some  on  em  !  " 

So  they  did,  and  explanations 
were  made  and  accepted  all  round. 
But  the  host  himself  came  near  get- 
ting into  trouble  a  little  afterwards, 
when  they  were  talking  again  of  the 
theory  of  the  church's  relation  to  sin- 
ners ;  for  he  thus  adventured  himself 
in  the  china-shop  of  polemic  theol- 
ogjr  in  an  attempt  to  sum  up  : — 

"  Seems  to  me,  as  3-011 're  a-puttin' 
it,  the  hull  thing  comes  down  to 
this,  don't  it  ?  —  the  church  is  either 
a  trap,  or  a  safe.  Either  it's  a  trap 
to  ketch  sinners  in  and  convert  'em 
afterwards,  jest  as  they  ketch  a  rat 
and  then  drownd  him   in  a  pail  o' 


142 


Scrojje;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


water  at  their  leisure  ;  or  else  it 's  a 
fire-proof  safe,  to  sbet  up  the  mem- 
bers after  3*011  've  got  'em  converted, 
jest  like  so  many  convertible  securi- 
ties, so  to  speak,  all  indorsed  and 
payable  to  bearer,  so's  to  have 'em 
all  snug  where  thieves  and  sinners 
can't  get  no  chance  at  'em  at  all  to 
spile  'em  nor  steal  'em  ?  " 

Dr.  Toomston  shook  his  head,  in 
grave  doubts  as  to  such  figures  of 
speech.  Mrs.  Button,  with  more  de- 
cision, warned  her  spouse  that  while 
he  might  not  injui'e  his  own  beliefs 
by  such  worldly  comparisons,  they 
would  assuredly  not  be  used  to  edifi- 
cation by  younger  and  less  firmly 
settled  minds.  He  should  rather, 
she  added,  exhort  the  young  men  to 
be  sober-minded,  and  thus  be  an  ex- 
ample to  the  believers.  This  whole- 
some counsel  was  received  b}*  Dr. 
Toomston  with  a  smile  and  an  ap- 
proving nod,  and  by  Mr.  Button  with 
silence  and  with  acquiescence  due  ; 
for  he  felt  that  he  had  probably  a 
little  erred. 

A  number  of  other  important 
topics  came  up  in  the  course  of  the 
conversation,  on  all  of  which  there 
were  visible  two  parties  or  sets  of 
beliefs  among  the  company.  These 
parties  may  perhaps  be  called  the 
Faith  party  and  the  Reason  party. 
The  latter  urged  that  their  reasoning 
method  led  directly  to  all  the  useful 
conclusion  which  the  Faith  party 
ass'erted ;  that  they  did  not  weaken 
faith,  but  directly  and  powerfully 
reinforced  it ;  that,  for  instance,  the 
exercise  of  prayer,  the  use  of  the 
Bible,  the  belief  in  an  overruling 
providence,  the  acknowledgment  and 
the  love  of  a  Redeemer,  were  no  less 
faithful  and  consoling  and  elevating, 
if  the  believer  in  them  found  him- 
self able  to  receive  them  with  the 
intellect  as  well  as  with  the  heart. 


They  even  suggested  that  the  prog- 
ress of  humanity  was  and  must  be, 
and  could  not  but  be  other  than  in- 
tellectual, at  least  as  much  as  emo- 
tional and  instinctive ;  and  that 
therefore  it  agreed  with  history  that 
reason  should  be  added  to  faith  just 
as  fast  as  mankind  became  wiser  and 
better.  But  the  Faith  party  would 
not  hear.  Figurative!}*,  they  cast 
the  reasoners  out  of  the  sjmagogue, 
declaring  that  their  reasoning  was 
unsanctified,  unregenerate,  and  sin- 
ful ;  an  unholy  intrusion  of  the  nat- 
ural man  into  the  office  and  place  set 
apart  for  the  children  of  the  kingdom  ; 
that  those  who  presumed  to  support 
the  ark  of  God  must  risk  the  fate 
of  Uzzah.  So  iron  and  obstinate 
and  uncompromising  was  the  stiff- 
ness of  these  denunciations,  particu- 
larly by  the  two  ladies  of  that  part, 
most  of  all  b}*  Mrs.  Button,  that 
the}'  seemed  excessive  in  their  strict- 
ness, even  to  the  mind  of  Mr.  Button 
himself,  not  very  keen  nor  discrim- 
inating in  such  spiritual  matters, 
however  much  it  might  be  so  where 
the  mammon  of  unrighteousness  was 
to  be  propitiated.  He  accordingly 
intervened  more  than  once  against 
the  followers  of  his  pastor  rather 
than  against  the  pastor  himself,  ob- 
serving, finally,  to  the  excommuni- 
cated :  — 

"  Now,  you  hold  }*our  tongues  ! 
Don't  you  see  that  argument  slides 
off  them  women  like  rain  off  a  duck's 
back  ?  I  do'  no  as  I  foller  ye  alto- 
gether ;  but  I  can  see  there 's  some 
reason  on  your  side  as  well  as  theirn  ; 
but  don't  you  see  that  the  more  you 
beat  'em  the  less  they  '11  know  it  and 
the  madder  they'll  git?  Mother '11 
be  a-cuttin'  your  throats  with  a  case- 
knife  if  you  don't  look  out ;  and  now, 
I  won't  hear  one  single  word  more  of 
theology ;    not  one  word  ;  jest  shet 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


143 


right  up,  the  hull  on  ye !  Dr.  Toom- 
ston,  what 's  the  subject  of  your  talk 
to  the  Sunday-school  children  this 
afternoon  ?  " 

This  judicious  diversion  cut  a 
pretty  hard  knot.  The  proposed 
lecture,  it  seemed,  was  to  be  on  the 
Canaanite  campaigns  of  Chedorla- 
omer ;  and  the  good  doctor  devel- 
oped some  very  valuable  views  —  for 
Sunday-school  children  —  about  the 
extremely  horrid  wickedness  of  those 
pagans  of  the  vale  of  Siddim  and 
thereabouts,  about  B.  C.  2,000,  and 
the  justice  of  their  consequent  sub- 
jugation by  another  pagan,  perhaps 
as  horridly  wicked. 

The  remainder  of  the  Sunday  was 
passed  by  Adrian  in  improving  con- 
versation with  his  friends,  or  in  at- 
tendance along  with  them  upon  the 
stated  preaching  of  the  gospel,  and 
(during  the  afternoon)  within  the 
precincts  of  the  Sunday  school.  Here 
the  good  doctor's  views  on  Chedor- 
laomer  were  duly  set  forth  by  way  of 
a  dessert  or  confectionery,  after  the 
solid  or  scholastic  part  of  the  exer- 
cises was  over.  Thus  it  came  to 
pass,  that  when  Adrian  went  home  to 
his  bed  he  was  pretty  well  tired. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  Sabbath —  the  rest  —  may  be 
on  Sunday  as  well  as  on  Saturday. 
For  schoolboys,  the  real  rest  is  Satur- 
day afternoon.  The  minister's  Sab- 
bath is  on  Monday ;  Monday  is  his 
rest.  If  he  is  a  wise  minister,  by  the 
way,  he  will  be  sure  to  devote  it  with 
a  peculiar  exclusiveness  to  secular 
things.  He  will  find  a  singular  re- 
newing and  strengthening  to  come 
from  this  resolute  wrenching  of  him- 
self away,  for  one  day  in  each  week, 
from  his  professional  labors.  "Whether 
Dr.  Toomston  would  have  stated  this 


rule  exactly  in  this  way,  maj  be 
doubted.  He  acted  on  it,  however, 
and  accordingly  he  readily  accepted 
Mr.  Button's  invitation  to  attend 
with  him  on  the  next  day,  Monday, 
the  meeting  of  the  proposed  Scrope 
Association,  which  was  held  in  a 
sufficient  hired  apartment,  in  the  lat- 
ter part  of  the  forenoon.  Present : 
Mr.  Button  and  his  famiby,  and  Dr. 
Toomston  ;  Mr.  and  Miss  Van  Braam  ; 
Adrian ;  Scrope  of  Scrope,  and  his 
friend  Mr.  Bird,  the  police  reporter ; 
Mr.  Adam  Welles  ;  Mr.  Stanley,  the 
East  Hartford  antiquarian  and  col- 
lector, and  his  friend  Mr.  Purvis, 
the  book-dealer ;  and  some  score  or 
more  of  other  persons,  mostly  of  a 
rustic  exterior,  who  were,  or  supposed 
themselves,  Scrope  descendants,  and 
who  had  been  drummed  up  by  the 
indefatigable  advertising  and  corres- 
pondence of  Mr.  Scrope. 

When  the  company  was  seated, 
there  was  a  kind  of  pause  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  and  then  Mr.  Scrope  arose, 
and  just  as  if  he  had  been  a  ward 
politician  all  his  life,  moved  that 
Tarbox  Button,  Esq. ,  of  New  York, 
take  the  chair ;  put  the  motion,  and 
had  the  capitalist  presiding  within 
five  seconds.  Being  then  in  turn 
called  upon  by  the  chairman,  Mr. 
Scrope,  without  nearly  as  much  of 
the  haw-haw  style  as  might  have 
been  apprehended,  opened  to  the 
meeting  the  matters  for  which  it  had 
been  called  together,  in  a  business- 
like speech,  some  portions  of  which 
have  been  already  stated,  in  sub- 
stance, as  follows  : — 

Colonel  Adrian  Scroope  the  Regi- 
cide was  executed  in  the  year  16G0. 
He  left  a  son  and  two  younger  broth- 
ers. The  son  came  to  America, 
where  he  changed  his  name  to  Throop, 
and  became  the  ancestor  of  a  con- 
siderable number  of  descendants,  all 


144 


Scrope;    or,   The    Lost  Library. 


through  female  lines,  however,  so 
that  his  name  was  extinct,  although 
his  blood  survived.  Now,  whatever 
estate  Colonel  Scroope  possessed, 
was  confiscated.  But  the  large  fam- 
ily estate  in  Buckinghamshire  was 
still  at  his  death  in  the  possession 
of  his  father,  a  very  old  man,  who 
at  his  death  left  a  considerable  por- 
tion of  it  vested  in  trust  for  the  use 
of  his  grandson  in  America.  This, 
the  speaker  was  advised,  was  still 
within  the  reach  of  the  heirs-general 
of  Adrian  Scroope  of  Hartford,  if 
they  chose  to  pursue  the  proper  legal 
measures.  The  rest  of  this  Bucking- 
hamshire estate  was  left  by  the  will 
of  its  aged  owner  in  equal  shares  to 
his  two  3'ounger  sons.  Of  these  two, 
the  elder  left  heirs,  and  the  estate 
had  remained  in  the  same  family 
until  some  thirty-five  3-ears  ago,  or 
a  little  more,  when  its  last  possessor 
of  the  Scroope  blood  died  intes- 
tate. 

The  speaker  himself,  Scrope  of 
Scrope,  was,  he  said,  descended  from 
the  younger  of  these  two  brothers, 
the  youngest  of  the  three,  who  was 
as  staunch  a  loyalist  as  the  colonel 
was  a  republican.  And,  he  observed 
here,  he  would  proceed  to  recite  to 
them  a  well-established  tradition 
which  they  might  not  all  of  them 
have  heard,  and  which  would  still 
further  interest  them  in  the  steadfast 
and  lofty  character  of  Colonel  Adrian 
the  Regicide.  It  may,  perhaps,  he 
continued,  be  considered  less  credit- 
able to  my  own  ancestor,  Colonel 
Adrian's  loyalist  nephew  ;  but  after 
all  it  only  implies  loyalty  at  the 
worst,  and  surely  loyalty  is  not 
.  altogether  vile  at  this  day  in  the 
eyes  of  the  citizens  of  the  North. 
(Applause.)  The  story,  continued 
the  speaker,  is  told  in  Cauliield's 
"■  Ilicch  Court  of  Justice,"  in  the  bio- 


graphical account  of  Colonel  Adrian 
the  Regicide,  and  is  as  follows  :  — 

"  Colonel  Scroop's  nephew,  visit- 
ing him  in  his  dungeon  the  night  be- 
fore he  suffered,  said  to  him,  '  Uncle, 
I  am  sorry  to  see  you  in  this  condi- 
tion, and  would$desire  you  to  repent 
of  the  fact  for  which  3*011  are  brought 
hither,  and  stand  to  the  king's  mercy.' 
and  more  words  to  the  same  effect. 
Whereupon,  Colonel  Scroop  put  forth 
his  hand  and  thrust  him  away,  using 
these  words  :  '  Avoid,  Satan  ! ' " 

This,  as  you  know,  said  Scrope  of 
Scrope,  meant  the  same  with  our 
Saviour's  words  to  the  tempter : 
"  Get  thee  behind  me  "  ;  and  they 
prove  a  fearless  composure  and  im- 
pregnable uprightness  most  worthy 
of  the  ancestor  of  so  man}*  good 
Puritans  and  respectable  American 
citizens.     (Applause.) 

Having  thus  very  neatly  compli- 
mented the  audience  into  good  humor 
on  the  principle  which  theologians 
call  imputation,  the  speaker  went  on 
to  develop  more  fully  the  practical 
part  of  the  subject.  The  property, 
which  might  otherwise  have  descend- 
ed to  himself,  as  the  representative 
of  the  younger  of  the  three  Scrope 
brethren,  had  been  expended  two  cen- 
turies ago  in  the  cause  of  the  king. 
That  of  Colonel  Adrian  could  not  fall 
to  him  (the  speaker)  except  by  fail- 
ure of  the  lineage  of  Adrian  ;  and 
neither  could  the  propert}*  of  the  in- 
testate representative  of  the  second 
brother.  His  object,  he  would  frankly 
avow,  was  in  part  to  obtain  some 
money  ;  if  he  should  turn  out  to  be 
the  lawful  heir  of  the  two  separate 
unclaimed  Scrope  estates,  to  get  pos- 
session of  them  ;  if  not,  as  he  really 
believed  was  the  case,  then  to  earn 
something  by  acting  as  agent  to  se- 
cure the  property  for  those  who  were 
its  heirs,  whom,  he  believed,  he  now 
saw  (in  part)  before  him.  (Applause.) 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


145 


What  he,  therefore,  wished  to  do, 
was,  to  form  an  association,  by  the 
signing  of  the  names  of  the  audience, 
and  others  entitled,  to  a  proper  in- 
strument. Such  signature  should  be 
attended  with  a  small  cash  subscrip- 
tion to.be  paid  to  him  as  the  author- 
ized agent  of  the  association  ;  and 
which  would  thus  place  him  in  a 
position  to  prosecute  the  necessary 
researches,  and  set  on  foot  the  requi- 
site legal  proceedings  in  England  ; 
and  each  person  thus  signing  was  to 
receive  a  corresponding  share  of  the 
proceeds  of  the  estate  whenever  se- 
cured. 

Mr.  Scrope  then  read  from  one  of 
a  handful  of  pamphlets  the  form  of 
an  association  such  as  he  desired  to 
suggest,  and  exhibited  a  blank  man- 
uscript copy  of  the  same,  ready  for 
signing  ;  and  he  added,  that  the  story 
of  that  very  pamphlet,  issued  by  the 
"Jennings  Association,"  in  the  year 
1863,  and  still  more  strikingly,  the 
story  of  the  "  Wilson  Association  " 
(which  he  also  displayed  from  the 
parcel  of  similar  pamphlets  in  his 
hands),  proved — yes,  it  might  safe- 
ly be  said,  j^'oved  —  that  investiga- 
tions of  a  similar  nature  in  behalf  of 
American  heirs  of  English  estates, 
had  been  more  than  once  pushed  to 
an  extent,  and  with  prospects,  that 
had  occasioned  such  proceedings  in 
England  as  showed  a  great  deal  of 
terror  and  some  very  strange  proceed- 
ings, to  say  the  least,  among  the  hold- 
ers of  vast  estates  there. 

If  it  should  be  the  pleasure  of  the 
assembby  to  form  such  an  associa- 
tion, and  to  authorize  and  enable 
him  to  manage  their  enterprise,  he 
concluded  it  would  gratify  at  once 
his  desire  to  earn  a  livelihood,  his 
natural  love  of  seeing  the  right  pre- 
vail, and  his  powerful  instinct  of 
family  pride  ;  and,  he  might  be  per- 


mitted to  add,  as  he  looked  upon  the 
intelligent  faces  of  these  his  worthy 
kinsmen  and  kinswomen  of  three 
thousand  miles  and  five  or  six  de- 
grees of  distance,  —  but,  he  trusted, 
of  no  such  distance  in  natural  affec- 
tion, —  as  he  looked  upon  these  in- 
telligent faces,  he  could  not  help 
adding,  that  that  ancient  English 
family  pride  was  strengthened  every 
moment  by  his  contact  with  these 
relatives  in  the  New  World ! 

This  rather  skilfully  arranged  dis- 
course, with  its  ad  captandum  pero- 
ration, was  very  well  received,  the 
applause  at  the  close  being  quite 
enthusiastic. 

Mr.  Scrope  sat  down  ;  and  after  a 
moment  Mr.  Button,  after  the  usual 
manner,  asked  what  was  the  further 
pleasure  of  the  meeting  ;  adding  that 
he  presumed  their  3'oung  friend  and 
kinsman  would  be  pleased  to  answer 
any  questions.  Here  Mr.  Scrope 
bowed,  in  sign  of  assent.  For  his 
own  part,  the  chairman  confessed 
that  he  had  been  greatly  interested 
and  favorably  impressed  bj-  the  state- 
ments they  had  just  heard. 

Mr.  Adam  Welles  arose,  and  in 
his  slow,  deliberate,  awkward,  or 
rather  homely,  and  j-et  intelligent 
manner,  said :  — 

"I  move  }-ou,  sir,  that  we  now 
proceed  to  the  formation  of  the 
Scrope  Association,  in  manner  and 
form  as  just  suggested  by  the  gentle- 
man from  foreign  parts."  This  motion 
was  seconded,  and  Mr.  Button  was 
on  the  point  of  putting  it  to  vote, 
when  a  spare,  pale,  gentlemanly  per- 
son, with  a  precise  look,  a  roomy 
forehead,  a  clean-shaved  face,  a  sharp, 
thin  nose,  and  a  narrow  chin,  rose 
up,  and  in  a  dry,  sharpish  voice  and 
prim  manner,  observed  that  if  it  were 
in  order  he  would  like  to  make  one 
or  two  inquuies  of  his  young  friend, 


146 


Scrope;    or,  The  Lost  Library. 


Mr.  Scrope,  before  the  question 
should  be,  as  he  pronounced  it, 
"  putt," 

"  Mr.  Stanley,  of  East  Hartford," 
said  the  chairman.  It  was  indeed 
that  eminent  antiquarian  and  col- 
lector. Old  Mr.  Van  Braam,  who  sat 
next  Adrian,  gave  a  kind  of  uneasy, 
dissatisfied  hitch  in  his  seat,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  Now,  he  means  to  make 
trouble  !  "     Sure  enough,  he  did. 

"  I  would  like  to  inquire,"  said 
Mr.  Stanley,  "  whether  Mr.  Scrope 
is  in  a  position  to  assure  us  positively 
that  the  English  laws  respecting  real 
estate  and  inheritance  will  entitle  the 
persons  present  to  take  possession 
of  the  estate  left  by  Colonel  Adrian 
Scrope's  father,  if  the  descent  of 
these  persons  from  the  colonel  him- 
self can  be  made  out  ?  " 

To  this  query  Mr.  Scrope  made 
answer,  that  he  could  not  reply  with 
an  absolute  affirmative ;  because 
legal  proceedings  are  alwa}-s  doubt- 
ful, peculiarly  so  in  cases  of  real 
estate,  and  most  of  all  in  cases  of 
remote  descents  ;  but  that  he  wished 
to  be  understood  to  assert,  most  posi- 
tively, that  the  prospect  was  such  as 
to  render  the  attempt  most  hopeful. 

"  Where  the  realitj*  is  least,  there 
we  must  use  the  most  of  hope  in- 
stead, I  suppose,"  rejoined  Mr. 
Stanley,  with  a  dry,  cold  smile, 
which  had  no  mirth  in  it,  but  only 
a  kind  of  bite  ;  "  in  that  sense,  I  fully 
believe  my  young  friend  to  be  cor- 
rect. And  I  presume  he  would  re- 
peat these  assurances  with  still  more 
confidence  in  the  case  of  the  second 
estate,  —  that  of  the  intestate  repre- 
sentative of  the  elder  of  Colonel 
Adrian's  two  brothers?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Scrope,"  he  would  ; 
and  in  this  part  of  the  undertaking, 
he  was  happy  to  inform  the  gentle- 
man that  a  very  positive  opinion  had 


been  given  ~by  eminent  London  coun- 
sel, learned  in  the  law,  in  favor  of 
the  title  of  the  American  heirs." 

"  Provided  the}^  can  be  found," 
continued  the  implacable  Mr.  Stan- 
\ey,  with  another  mirthless  jack-frost 
grin.  "  There  have  been  several 
associations,  to  my  own  knowledge, 
like  that  which  the  young  gentleman 
wishes  us  to  form.  I  have  myself 
the  pamphlet  reports  of  the  Jennings 
Association,  the  Wilson  Association, 
the  Booth  Association,  the  Gibson 
Association,  and  the  Brown  Asso- 
ciation. I  expect  any  day  to  get 
those  of  the  Jones  Association  and 
the  Smith  Association,  unless  the 
whole  of  them  conclude,  as  I 
should  advise  them  to  do,  that 
they  had  better  unite  in  one  name 
and  call  the  whole  the  Brown  Asso- 
ciation. For  look  you,  Mr.  Chair- 
man, eveiy  one  of  these  printed  re- 
ports ends  with  a  confession  of  entire 
failure.  Perhaps  Green  would  be 
the  best  name  to  begin  with,  but 
Brown  would  be  the  best  to  come 
out  with.  The}'  are  all  done  Brown 
so  far  —  very  brown,  indeed.  But 
I  must  trouble  my  3'oung  friend  with 
one  more  inquiry :  Where  does  he 
find,  I  will  not  say  legal  proof,  but 
the  least  evidence,  first,  that  a  son 
of  Colonel  Adrian  Scroope  the  Reg- 
icide fled  to  New  England  in 
1GG0?  Second,  that  it  was  this  son 
who  signed  himself  'Adrian  Scroope ' 
at  Hartford  in  1GGG?  Third,  that 
any  single  one  of  the  persons  in  this 
room  is  descended  from  the  person 
so  signing?  " 

There  is  something  peculiarly 
cold-blooded  and  horrible  in  apply- 
ing the  unfeeling  test  of  legal  rules, 
or  historical  rules,  of  evidence  to  the 
glowing  emotional  happiness  of  spec- 
ulative future  wealth.  The  revul- 
sion leaves,  as   it    were,  a  clammy 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


147 


paste,  as  when  you  throw  cold  water 
on  hot  buckwheat  cakes.  The  de- 
liberate, chilly,  rasping  manner  of 
Mr.  Stanley's  remarks  was  about 
as  irritating  as  any  manner  could 
be ;  and  moreover,  it  had  an  air  of 
positiveness  and  superior  knowledge 
about  it  which  was  very  imposing. 
So,  while  it  was  calculated  to  annoy 
Mr.  Scrope  to  the  utmost,  it  was  at 
the  same  time  just  the  manner  to  tell 
on  a  company  of  Yankee  folks,  who 
were  being  asked  to  pay  down  ready 
cash  to  a  person  they  had  never  seen 
before,  and  knew  nothing  about,  for 
the  privilege  of  sending  him  to  hunt 
up  rights,  two  hundred  years  old,  to 
property  they  had  never  seen  at  all, 
and  three  thousand  miles  off.  The 
remarks  did  tell  accordingly.  The 
stout  intelligence  even  of  the  chair- 
man was  visibly  disturbed.  Mr. 
Scrope,  while  his  usual  affable  smile 
continued,  could  be  seen  to  grow 
somewhat  pale.  A  dead  silence 
fell  upon  the  assembl}'. 

Mr.  Scrope,  whatever  his  feelings, 
rose  at  once  to  reply  ;  for  in  such  a 
case  any  hesitation  is  surely  fatal. 
It  must  be  confessed  that  although  he 
struggled  gallantly,  he  was  at  this 
moment  effectually  beaten.  He  al- 
leged the  constant  tradition  of  the 
Scrope  "descent ;  the  circumstantial 
evidence  of  the  well-known  will ;  and 
the  identity  of  character  between  the 
Puritan  Scropes  and  the  family  of 
the  Throops  of  Bozrah,  from  whom, 
he  said,  the  descent  of  several  of 
those  in  the  room  was  proved  by 
absolute  record  evidence.  He  en- 
larged with  an  air  of  triumph  upon 
this  last  consideration.  But  it  was 
obvious  enough  that  he  was  dwelling 
on  his  strongest  point  and  slurring 
over  his  ^weakest.  Was  a  Yankee 
audience  likely  to  overlook  that  ?  If 
he  could  prove  that  Adrian  Scroope 


and  Adeodatus  Throop  were  one  and 
the  same  person,  or  if  he  could  even 
show  that  there  was  a  chance  to 
prove  it,  he  might  succeed  in  orga- 
nizing the  association  and  becoming 
its  agent.  But  if  the  question  had 
been  taken  immediately  after  his  re- 
ply to  Mr.  Stanley,  it  would  have 
been  lost. 

The  audience  were  muttering  dis- 
contentedly to  each  other.  Mr.  Stan- 
ley rose  again,  and  in  the  same  cold, 
rasping  manner  and  voice,  and  with 
the  same  mirthless  smile,  said  :  — 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  I  move  that  this 
meeting  do  now  adjourn  sine  die." 

This  was  sudden  death  which  he 
so  obligingly  offered.  Adrian  sprang 
up,  and  without  an  instant  in  which 
anybody  could  say,  "  Second  the 
motion,"  exclaimed, — 

"  One  moment,  Mr.  Chairman  !  " 

"Mr.  Adrian  Chester,"  said  Mr. 
Button. 

"  Before  anybody  seconds  Mr. 
Stanley's  motion,"  continued  Adrian, 
"just  a  word,  and  then  I  will  not 
oppose  its  being  put."  Mr.  Stanley, 
looking  perhaps  no  sourer  than  usual, 
but  with  a  stiffish  bow,  sat  down. 
Adrian  continued,  while  Mr.  Button 
looked  towards  him  with  interest,  and 
Mr.  Scrope  with  doubt.  He  began 
by  saying  that  he  should  not  speak 
of  English  estates  or  English  law, 
but  that  he  should  confine  himself  to 
the  third  question  which  had  been 
put  to  Mr.  Scrope,  to  wit :  the  ques- 
tion of  the  descent  of  those  present, 
through  Adrian  Scroope  of  Hart- 
ford, from  Adrian  Scroope  the  Regi- 
cide. 

At  this,  Mr.  Stanley-  pricked  up 
his  ears,  for  he  knew  that  Adrian 
possessed  the  lost  Scrope  Genealogy, 
and  he  rightly  judged  that  the  same 
was  to  be  cited.  Except  Purvis  and 
Mr.  Van  Braam,  not  another  soul  in 


148 


Scrope;    or,  The  Lost  Library. 


the  room  knew  it ;  not  even  Scrope 
of  Scrope,  who,  however,  at  hearing 
this  line  of  argument  proposed, 
showed  even  a  keener"  interest  than 
the  East  Hartford  antiquarian. 

First,  proceeded  Adrian,  he  would 
barely  refer  to  the  well-known  Scroope 
will,  which,  as  Mr  Scrope  had  ob- 
served, afforded  some  presumptive 
evidence.  But  that  was  known  to 
them  all ;  and  he  believed  that  this 
pamphlet  —  here  he  drew  it  forth 
and  held  it  up  —  did  in  fact  furnish, 
not  the  legal  proof  that  had  been 
asked  for,  but  the  circumstantial 
evidence  that  had  been  asked  for : 
evidence  of  so  convincing  a  nature 
as  to  completely  justify  the  forma- 
tion of  the  proposed  association  and 
the  contribution  of  all  the  money 
required,  or  several  times  as  much, 
for  the  sake  of  full}-  investigating 
the  subject. 

B}*  this  time  everybody  in  the 
room  was,  as  they  sa}'  in  the  coun- 
try, "all  in  a  twitter";  and  a  fun- 
ny assortment  of  intensely  atten- 
tive faces  was  concentred  upon 
Adrian,  about  half  of  them  with 
their  mouths  wide  open.  As  for 
Mr.  Scrope,  his  flushed  cheeks,  as 
he  leaned  forward  towards  Adrian, 
sufficiently  showed  his  excitement. 

"  This  pamphlet,"  continued  Adri- 
an, "  which  I  discovered,  by  great 
good  fortune,  only  a  week  ago,  is  the 
celebrated,  though  long-lost,  unique 
Scrope  Genealog}^  —  "  Here  a  kind 
of  catching  of  the  breath  ran  through 
the  audience,  and  Mr.  Scrope  gave 
a  perceptible  start,  and  gazed  upon 
the  orator  with  unspeakable  doubt 
and  astonishment.  ''Its  pages  con-  ' 
sist  of  a  genealogical  account,  very 
much  after  the  usual  fashion,  and 
ending  with  the  writer,  whose  name, 
Adrian  Scroope,  is  so  printed  on  the 
title-page.    But  the  evidence  to  which 


I  wish  to  call  your  attention  is  on 
the  back  of  the  title-page.  It  con- 
tains five  different  items,  from  which 
I  argue  that  Adrian  Scroope  was  the 
son  of  Colonel  Adrian  Scroope  the 
Regicide,  and  that,  moreover,  he  and 
Adeodatus  Throop  were  one  and  the 
same  person. 

" First.  Both  names  are  signed  on 
this  page,  in  preciseby  the  same  hand- 
writing, and  that  is,  by  the  way,  the 
handwriting  of  the  Scrope  will. 

"  Second.  The  words  non  hoec,  sed 
me,  printed  below  the  verses  here, 
which  verses  I  will  read  in  a  mo- 
ment, were  the  motto  of  the  Buck- 
inghamshire Scroopes,  to  which  fam- 
ily Colonel  Adrian  belonged.  They 
are  a  noble  motto,  though  it  is  im- 
possible to  English  them  in  so  few 
words  :  '  Not  the  goods  of  this  life, 
but  my  own  soul's  good,'  will  give 
their  meaning. 

"Third.  There  is  a  rough  but  dis- 
tinct pen-and-ink  sketch,  properly 
blazoned,  of  the  arms  of  Colonel 
Adrian  Scroope,  —  azure  a  bend  or, 
—  at  the  side  of  this  motto. 

"Fourth.  There  is  a  sort  of  puzzle 
of  half  Latin  and  half  Euglish,  brack- 
eted together  under  this  motto." 
Adrian  read  it  — 

E)  King's  Church  )  ., 
j  Church's  Kmg  j lbam 

"  Now,  this  device  has,  to  begin 
with,  a  plain  meaning  suited  to  the 
case  of  the  Puritan  refugee  who 
printed  them  there,  viz. :  '  I  went 
out  from  the  church-and-state  con- 
dition ; '  that  is,  evidently,  '  I  fled 
from  England.'  But,  moreover, 
these  letters  have  a  secret  meaning. 
Omitting  either  one  of  the  dupli- 
cates within  the  brackets,  the  device 
is  a  perfect  anagram  of  the  word 
'  Buckinghamshire,'  the  county  of 
Adrian  Scroope's  family." 

By  this  time  the  excitement  had 


Scrope;    or,  The  Lost  Library. 


149 


fully  possessed  ever}?-  person  in  the 
room  ;  and  indeed,  whatever  the  in- 
terest of  such  obsolete  conundrums 
to  the  general  public,  it  would  have 
been  quite  impossible  to  find  any 
theme  more  entrancing  to  old  Adam 
Welles,  to  Purvis  the  dealer  in  rare 
books,  to  Philetus  Stanley  the  pro- 
fessional antiquary,  to  Mr.  Van 
Braam  the  genealogist  and  lover  of 
secret  things  generally,  or  to  Scrope 
of  Scrope,  who  saw  his  enterprise 
thus  rising  out  of  actual  death  into 
a  vitality  and  hopefulness  far  beyond 
any  which  he  could  himself  have  in- 
spired into  it ;  not  to  speak  of  the 
perhaps  less  special  but  vivid  enough 
curiosity  of  all  the  rest  of  the  marvel- 
mongers.  They  had  all  gathered 
close  around  the  speaker,  who  con- 
tinued :  — 

"  Fifth.  The  verses  printed  here 
have  a  similar  double  meaning,"  — 
Adrian  read  them  ;  there  is  no  harm 
in  repeating  them  here,  for  the  clear- 
er illustration  of  the  young  man's 
line  of  argument :  — 

See,  here  I  raise  a  Monvmente  in  hast 
Charg'd  to  protect  old  Names,  old  Fames, 

from  Waste. 
That  is  laid  off,  its  Hist'rie  here  is  told. 
Here  I  take  up  new  Name,  old  Life  to  hold. 
Read  in  this  Verse  the  Truth,  the  Cause,  the 

Hope. 
Old  Faith  new  Fame  shall  found  ;  farewell 

to  Scroope. 
Old  Fame,  farewell!    Old  Faith,  live  in  new 

Fame ! 
Pray  God,  though  Life  be  short,  I  scape  from 

shame: 
Earth  first,  and  Heaven  at  last,  shall  give  me 

a  new  name. 

"  Now,"  he  proceeded,  "  not  only 
these  lines  can  be  construed  as  an 
intimation  that  the  writer  is  exchang- 
ing his  name  of  Scroope  for  another 
•  in  order  to  escape  danger,  but  they 
cannot  easily  be  construed  to  mean 
anything  else.  This  is  their  first  or 
obvious  meaning.  The  second,  or 
hidden  meaning,  is  a  conceit  of  the 


same  sort  with  the  anagram  ;  and 
such  conceits,  I  need  not  remind 
you,  were  common  in  those  days. 
It  shows,  I  think,  that  the  writer 
meant  it  to  contain  a  statement  of 
what  the  name  was  that  he  was  lay- 
ing off,  and  what  that  was  which  he 
was  assuming  instead.  It  consists 
in  the  fact  that  the  verses  are  an 
acrostic.  The  first  letters  of  the 
lines  are  S.  0.  T.  II.  R.  0.  0.  P.  E.  : 
a  combination,  as  you  see,  that  in- 
cludes the  names  of  Scroope  and 
Throop. 

"  Now,"  concluded  Adrian,  "  when 
you  consider  the  character  of  the 
Puritan  Scroopes,  their  danger  under 
Charles  IE,  the  amount  of  other  evi- 
dence that  an  Adrian  Scroope  fled  to 
New  England,  the  elaborate  nature  of 
all  this  concealment,  the  consistency 
and  preciseness  of  its  meaning  when 
thus  interpreted,  and  its  perfect  sense- 
lessness for  any  other  purpose,  I  do 
not  see  how  you  can  help  believing 
that  Adrian  Scroope  of  Hartford  was 
the  son  of  Colonel  Adrian  Scroope  the 
Regicide,  and  was  the  same  as  the 
Rev.  Adeodatus  Throop  of  Bozrah. 
And  I,  for  my  part,  can  prove  to  the 
satisfaction  of  any  court,  that  I  am 
descended  from  the  daughter  named 
in  the  so-called  Scrope  will,  which,  if 
I  am  right,  is  the  same,  whether  it 
be  a  Scrope  will  or  a  Throop  will. 
And  now,  Mr.  Chairman,  I  submit  to 
your  personal  examination,  and  to 
that  of  the  present  company,  the  doc- 
ument on  which  my  reasoning  is 
founded  :  a  document  which,  for  my 
part,  I  confess,  I  would  rather  own 
than  to  own  any  other  one  manuscript 
or  printed  thing  on/  this  continent. 
And  if  an}'  one  likes  to  second  my 
friend  Mr.  Stanley's  resolution  for 
adjournment,  I  will  interrupt  no  fur- 
ther." 

And  Adrian  handed  up   the  pre- 


150 


Scrope;    or,   The  Lost   Library. 


cious  pamphlet  to  Mr.  Button, 
amidst  a  quantity  of  applause  which, 
from  so  small  a  company,  was  sim- 
ply amazing.  They  stamped  and 
clapped  and  laughed  aloud  ;  and  old 
Adam  Welles,  when  he  could  make 
himself  heard,  absolutely  proposed 
three  cheers  for  Adrian  Scrope  Ches- 
ter, the  resurrectionist  of  the  Scrope 
Association  of  America  !  —  and  he 
got  them,  too  —  three  rousing  ones. 
Mr.  Stanley,  on  his  part,  made  haste 
to  ask  leave  to  withdraw  his  motion, 
and  got  that.  Mr.  Button,  after  a 
brief  inspection  of  the  pamphlet, 
passed  it  over  to  the  dazed  Mr. 
Sci-ope,  saying  at  the  same  time, 
"  Hand  out  your  articles ;  now  is 
your  time."  Scrope  did  so  ;  and  as 
fast  as  the  signatures  could  be  set 
clown,  eveiy  descendant  in  the  room 
was  enrolled  and  the  proper  amount 
of  mone}' — it  was  $5.00  apiece  — 
paid  down.  Last  but  one,  Mr.  Stan- 
ley signed,  and  with  a  very  good 
grace,  considering  how  ungracious  a 
person  he  was  ;  for  he  shook  hands 
with  Mr.  Scrope,  and  complimented 
him  on  the  prospects  of  his  enter- 
prise, and  as  he  put  down  his  name, 
he  entered  against  it  the  pleasing 
words,  "Ten  Shares,"  lajdng  down 
therewith  a  clean  fifty-dollar  bill. 
Last  of   all  came  Mr.   Button,  who 


quietly  wrote  "One  Hundred  Shares"  ; 
and  taking  the  corresponding  amount 
from  a  substantial  roll  of  bills,  he 
handed  it  to  Mr.  Scrope,  and  add- 
ed, — 

"  There.  And,  cousin  Scrope,  I  will 
furnish  as  much  more  as  is  necessary. 
I  '11  see  this  thing  clean  through  to  the 
end,  and  now  shake  hands  on  it." 
This  Mr.  Scrope  was  very  willing  to 
do. 

At  the  further  suggestion  of  the 
chairman,  officers  were  now  formally 
chosen  for  the  Scrope  Association,  to 
wit :  Tarbox  Button,  Esq.,  of  New 
York,  President ;  Adrian  Scrope  Ches- 
ter, Esq.,  of  Hartford,  Secretary;  and 
A.  B.  D.  V.  Scrope  of  Scrope,  Esq., 
Agent.  The  agent  was  authorized 
to  enlist  further  members,  and  to 
push  the  objects  of  the  association, 
by  and  with  the  advice  and  consent 
of  the  president  and  secretary  ;  and 
the  meeting  then  adjourned  in  a  most 
agreeable  state  of  mind. 

After  much  informal  exchange  of 
congratulations,  the  members  dis- 
persed ;  not,  however,  until  Mr.  But- 
ton had  requested  most  of  those 
present  to  attend  a  little  celebration 
which  he  proposed  to  organize  on  the 
evening  of  the  next  day  at  his  own 
home,  to  commemorate  this  agree- 
able occasion. 


Scrojoe;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


151 


PART 
CHAPTER  XXII. 

Next  morning,  Adrian  went  to  call 
on  Mr.  Scrope  at  the  latter  gentle- 
man's place  of  business.  Adrian  was 
going  to  Hartford,  and  Mr.  Scrope  to 
England  ;  and  it  was  desirable  that 
the}'  should  arrange  their  joint  plan 
of  operations  in  the  matter  of  the 
Scrope  estate. 

The  place  of  business  in  question 
was  in  Amity  Street,  a  little  off 
Broadway  to  the  west,  in  a  row  of 
two-story  red  brick  houses,  which 
were  respectable  dwelling-houses  a 
generation  ago,  but  now  degraded  — 
or  elevated  —  to  business  occupancy. 
The  tenement  where  the  agency  of 
the  Scrope  Association  was  estab- 
lished was  recognized  by  Adrian  be- 
fore he  saw  the  number  on  the  door, 
from  a  gay  water-color  drawing  in 
the  window,  in  bright  blue,  with  gold- 
leaf  and  silver-leaf  liberally  laid  on, 
representing  a  lion  of  the  heraldic 
variety,  surrounded  by  the  other 
splendid  adornments  of  a  coat-of- 
arms,  with  crest,  supporters,  and 
motto  complete,  and  having  under- 
neath the  nvystic  formula  :  — 

"  By  the  Name  of  Ferguson." 

"  Ferguson,"  repeated  Adrian ; 
"  the  Ferguson  Arms  !  Mr.  Mark 
Twain,  I  believe,  met  a  member  of  that 
family  —  or  installed  one  —  in  Italy." 
Reading  further,  upon  a  wonderfully 
resplendent  sign  hanging  beside  the 
Ferguson  Arms,  all  white  and  gold, 
the  announcement  "  College  of  Her- 
alds, by  Doctor  Adelbert  O'Rourke," 
he  walked  straight  in,  and  entered 
the  room  designated  by  these  gor- 


VIII. 

geous  and  aristocratic  belongings.  It 
was  a  dingy  little  place,  of  old  a  front 
parlor,  with  a  few  books  on  the  man- 
tel-piece, and  two  small  office  desks. 
On  one  of  these  la}-  a  fat,  red-covered 
royal  octavo,  which  Adrian  recog- 
nized as  Burke's  Encj-clopaedia  of 
Heraldry ;  and  at  it  sat  a  fat,  red 
man,  with  moist,  full  eyes,  no  less 
obviously  the  King-at-Arms,  so  to 
speak,  of  the  College.  At  the  other 
desk  sat  Mr.  Scrope,  busily  at  work 
with  papers  and  letters.  He  wel- 
comed Adrian  with  a  very  genuine 
interest. 

"  Aw,  ow  do  you  do  !  The  vewy 
man  I  wanted  to  see.     Ave  a  chair." 

"  I  want  to  congratulate  you  on 
making  so  good  a  speech  3'esterday," 
said  Adrian,  sitting  down.  "  Most 
of  you  Englishmen  hitch  dreadfully 
in  speaking." 

"  Aw,  j'es  ;  j'ou  're  vewy  kind,  I'm 
sure.  But  Bird 's  entitled  to  alf  the 
credit,  hat  least.  E  coached  me 
twemendously.  Vewy  clevah  fellah, 
Bird,  d'ye  know,  now?" 

Adrian  agreed  that  it  was  so,  but 
could  not  help  intimating  that  so 
much  of  the  missionary  spirit  was 
not  common  among  police  reporters. 

"No?  Well, —  fact  is,  e  and  I 
ave  become  vewy  fwiendly,  —  quite 
pals,  in  fact." 

"Hallo,  Brab !  how  are  you?" 
sung  out  a  clear  voice,  the  singer 
at  the  same  time  coming  suddenly 
in  at  the  door. 

"Aw,  ow  de  do?"  said  Scrope, 
evidently  acknowledging  this  com- 
pendious appellation.  "  Take  a  seat. 
Mr.  Chester,  Mr.  Bird." 


152 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


It  was  indeed  the  reporter  who  had 
thus  profaned  the  majestic  name  of 
Brabazon.  Adrian  and  he  shook 
hands,  and  Adrian  could  not  help 
laughing. 

"  Wat  is  it?"  asked  Scrope. 

"Why,"  said  Adrian,  "Ibeg3'our 
pardon ;  but  if  you  let  yourself  be 
called  Brab,  you  '11  surely  be  supposed 
Barabbas,  —  not  Brabazon." 

" '  Now  Bawabbas  was  a  wobber, 
you  know,"  commented  Scrope  ;  "  that 
would  n't  do  at  all.  Must  twouble  you 
to  say  it  in  full,  I  'm  afwaid,  Bird  ?  " 

"  Very  good,"  said  Bird  ;  "  or  I  '11 
sa}-  Scrope  ;  but  there  's  something 
grand  about  Brab  ;  I  like  it.  How- 
ever, we  're  in  the  paper.  You  saw 
it,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Scrope,  eagerly  ;  "show 
me." 

So  Bird  drew  forth  a  morning  pa- 
per, and  opening  it,  pointed  out  to 
the  young  Englishman  a  paragraph 
in  the  gossip  department,  giving  a 
brief  account  of  the  meeting  of  the 
Scrope  Association. 

"  Capital !  capital ! "  exclaimed 
Scrope,  reading  it  aloud  ;  "could  n't 
be  better !  Hinfinitely  obliged,  Bird. 
Don't  know  ow  I  'm  hevah  going  to 
weturn  hall  y our  goodness,  I  'm  sure  ! 
Now,  Mr.  Chester,  his  n't  that  good  ?  " 

"  Very  good  indeed,"  assented 
Adrian,  politeby.  "  Excellent  ad- 
vertisement, I  should  saj\  But  do 
3'ou  know,  the  first  thing  I  think  of 
when  I  see  gossipy  things  in  the  pa- 
pers, is  Mr.  Thackeray's  maxim?" 

"  Wat's  that?"  said  Scrope. 

Adrian  quoted  :  "  Infamation  is 
infamation,  and  it  does  n't  matter 
where  the  infamy  comes  from."  And 
Scrope  looked  rather  puzzled.  Why 
should  n't  he  ?  He  did  not  under- 
stand such  squeamishness. 

Bird  laughed,  and  said,  "  O,  he 
wanted  it  in,  so  I  put  it  in  for  him." 


"  Can  you  keep  things  out  as  eas- 
ily ?  "  asked  Adrian. 

"  Not  so  easily.  But  it  can  be 
done.  Pretty  important  for  police 
purposes,  every  now  and  then,  to  keep 
things  out  of  print." 

"  Well,"  returned  Adrian,  "  I  shall 
ask  leave  to  apply  to  you  if  I  ever 
want  either  of  them  done,  as  you  are 
so  influential  with  the  papers." 

Bird  very  civilly  said  he  was  at  Mr. 
Chester's  service,  and  then  congratu- 
lated Adrian  on  the  prompt  and  able 
manner  in  which  he  had  intervened 
at  the  critical  moment  to  decide  the 
opinions  of  the  assembly  the  day 
before. 

"  Yes,"  assented  Scrope.  "  By 
Jove,  do  you  know,  now,  the  ole  thing 
was  dead  as  Julius  Caesar  !  It  was 
just  like  a  scene  in  a  play !  But  now, 
my  clear  fellah,  watever  made  you 
keep  so  vewy  dark  about  that  pam- 
phlet?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Bird, "  I  've  been  think- 
ing of  that." 

"Why,"  said  Adrian,  "I  didn't 
keep  so  very  dark.  There  were  four 
people  in  the  room  yesterday  who 
knew  I  had  it.  Besides,  I  had  had  it 
only  a  very  few  daj's.  And  how  much 
stronger  it  made  the  effect.  It  *s  a 
great  deal  more  astonishing  to  make 
a  dead  man  appear,  than  a  live  one." 

This  was  good  reasoning,  and  the 
two  3'oung  men  assented,  though  they 
still  felt  that  it  did  not  fully  explain 
Adrian's  keeping  the  knowledge  of 
his  secret  from  the  one  man  of  all 
most  interested  in  it,  viz.  Mr  Scrope 
himself.  It  would  not  have  been  quite 
elegant  to  explain,  for  the  chief  rea- 
son was  this  :  Adrian's  opinion  —  or 
rather  feeling  —  about  Mr.  Scrope 
was,  that  though  he  might  be  a  good 
fellow  enough,  it  was  better  to  be  in 
a  position  to  manage  him  than  to  be 
managed  by  him.    This  feeling,  in- 


Scrope;   or>  The  Lost  Library. 


153 


deed,  was  so  distinct,  that  Adrian 
even  found  himself  concluding  that 
in  Scrope' s  hands,  the  financial  part 
of  their  undertaking  was  pretty  likely 
not  to  amount  to  much,  even  should 
it  turn  out  that  there  was  any  mone}r 
to  be  recovered.  In  truth,  how- 
ever, Adrian  was  little  concerned 
about  the  money.  His  only  real  ex- 
pectation was  that  all  this  stir  and 
excitement  might  lead  to  the  discov- 
ery of  new  information  respecting 
the  curious  family  history  of  the  refu- 
gee, and  of  the  Scrope  family  in  gen- 
eral, and — a  far  more  interesting 
point  to  him  —  that  it  might  in  some 
way  or  other  put  him  on  the  trace  of 
the  Scrope  collection  of  books,  the 
Lost  Library  ;  and  he  was  about  as 
unwilling  to  state  in  full  these  mo- 
tives, as  he  was  his  estimate  of  the 
personal  character  of  Mr.  Scrope. 
He  had  no  doubt,  moreover,  in  his 
own  mind  that  these  same  motives  — 
viz.  the  hope  of  discovering  some  gen- 
ealogy and  the  Lost  Library —  had  de- 
cided Mr.  Philetus  Stanley  to  join  so 
heartily  in  the  movement  as  he  did, 
when  he  found  he  could  not  prevent 
it.  It  was  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world  for  a  shrewd,  sly,  cool  man 
to  try  joining  the  Association,  with  a 
view  to  manage  it  and  get  the  benefit 
of  it,  as  soon  as  he  was  sure  he  could 
not  shut  it  off  from  the  investigation 
which  he  would  have  preferred  to 
monopolize. 

Adrian,  perceiving  how  intimate  a 
friendship  had  been  contracted  be- 
tween Bird  and  Scrope,  judiciously 
accepted  the  situation,  congratulating 
himself  doubly  upon  not  having  made 
Scrope  a  confidant,  as,  he  saw,  Bird 
would  have  been  his  confidant  too ; 
and  he  believed,  with  shrewd  old  Gil- 
bert Stuart  the  painter,  that  a  secret 
known  to  III  persons  is  too  often 
known,  not  to  three,  but  to  a  hundred 


and  eleven.  As,  however,  the  doings 
of  the  Scrope  Association  coold 
neither  reveal  his  own  interest  in  any 
secrets,  or  be  much  of  a  secret  them- 
selves, he  proceeded  at  once,  without 
any  reserve  on  account  of  Mr.  Bird, 
to  discuss,  as  secretary,  with  Scrope 
as  agent,  the  line  of  operations  to  be 
adopted.  Half  an  hour's  talk  served 
to  arrange  this,  and  several  shrewd 
practical  suggestions  from  Mr.  Bird 
were  of  a  good  deal  of  use,  insomuch 
that  Adrian  suggested  that  he  should 
be  appointed  a  "  brevet  Scrope,"  by 
way  of  acknowledgment.  The  plan 
was  simple ;  it  was  first  to  enlist  as 
many  more  members  as  possible  in 
the  association,  during  the  short  re- 
maining period  of  Mr.  Scrope's  stay 
in  America,  and  to  prepare  full 
and  legall}-  authenticated  transcripts 
of  all  documents  and  evidence  that 
could  be  mustered  of  all  Scrope  de- 
scents on  this  side  the  water,  with  a 
view  to  opening  the  legal  campaign  in 
England  This  campaign,  which  was 
to  be  the  practical  and  decisive  test  of 
the  enterprise,  was  only  to  be  set  on 
foot  after  the  fullest  possible  prepa- 
ration, and  upon  express  authoritj*,  to 
be  sent  from  the  officers  of  the  asso- 
ciation in  America,  who  were  ex- 
pected to  furnish  most  of  the  means, 
and  had  a  right  to  this  control: 

All  this  having  been  adjusted,  Mr. 
Scrope  now  insisted  that  the  three 
should  step  out  and  celebrate  the 
happy  beginning  of  his  authentic 
official  labors  by  a  drink  ;  "  espe- 
cially," he  added,  as  it  was  time  for 
his  "bitters."  Bird  assented,  and  Ad- 
rian, reluctant  to  seem  churlish,  went 
with  them.  There  are  few  blocks  on 
that  part  of  Broadway  without  half 
a  dozen  bars,  and  a  shrine  for  the  pro- 
posed libation  was  not  far  to  seek. 
It  was,  indeed,  evidently  a  regular 
haunt  of  Mr.   Scrope's ;  for  at  his 


154 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


entrance  the  splendid  creature  behind 
the  bar  nodded  familiarly,  and  said,  — 

"  Your  friend  was  just  in  —  he 's 
coming  right  back."  And  he  added, 
"The  same?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Scrope  ;  "  two  of '  em, 
as  usual." 

"  What  for  you,  gents  ?  "  continued 
the  affable  high-priest. 

"  O,  I  '11  drink  with  them,"  said 
Bird. 

"  What  is  it?"  asked  Adrian. 

"  Absinthe,"  said  Scrope.  "  Try 
it." 

"  Why,  I  'd  like  to  know  how  it 
tastes,"  said  Adrian,  "  but  I  hate  liq- 
uor I  '11  do  it  if  you  '11  let  me  off  in 
case  I  don't  like  it.  Besides,  I  can't 
cany  any  liquor  ;  it  muddles  my  head 
very  disagreeably." 

"  All  right,"  said  Bird  ;  "  he  won't 
like  it.  Give  him  a  soda  cocktail, 
too  ;  then  he  can  go  through  the  mo- 
tions, at  any  rate." 

Adrian  readily  permitted  the  dis- 
creet Mr.  Bird  to  adjust  the  ceremo- 
nial, asking  only  what  a  soda  cock- 
tail might  be,  and  well  pleased  to 
learn  how  ver}*  slightly  it  differed 
from  a  glass  of  soda-water  ;  and  the 
barkeeper  proceeded  to  the  somewhat 
elaborate  and  scientific-looking  pro- 
cesaof  mixing  three  glasses  of  the 
most  infamous  and  fatal  poison  ever 
dispensed  as  a  drink,  —  that  liquid 
idiocy,  the  scoundrelly  French  in- 
vention of  absinthe.  The  oily-look- 
ing, pale-green  wormwood-juice  was 
yet  dropping  and  spreading  cloudily 
in  the  last  goblet,  when  the  expected 
"  friend,"  Mr.  William  Button,  ar- 
rived, and  boisterously  greeting  the 
company,  signified  his  content  with 
the  order  which  had  been  given  on' 
his  behalf,  adding,  with  oaths,  to 
Scrope,  — 

"You  taught  me  to  drink  it,  by  (  ), 
and  by  (  ),  it's  fair  to  suppose  I'll 


stick  to  it  as  long  as  you   do,  by 

()•" 

We  may  charitably  believe  that 
in  commending  such  a  deadly  cup  to 
the  lips  of  the  unfortunate  young 
man  whose  very  brain  and  spine  were 
already  dissolving  in  the  same  fright- 
ful disease  which  this  fiend's  potion 
so  powerfully  promotes,  the  scatter- 
brained Englishman  was  iguorant  at 
once  of  the  double  power  of  strong 
drink  in  the  stimulating  climate  of 
America  ;  of  the  peculiar  hateful  in- 
fluence of  absinthe  in  causing  or  ac- 
celerating ailments  that  involve  the 
brain  and  spinal  marrow,  and  of  the 
fact  that  such  a  disease  was  already 
rapidly  establishing  itself  in  Mr. 
William  Button's  frame 

However,  the  three  others  sipped 
off  the  stuff,  and  smacked  their  lips 
approvingly.  As  for  Adrian,  he 
tasted  it,  it  is  true  ;  and  at  the  contor- 
tion of  his  visage,  and  the  abhorrent 
haste  with  which  he  spat  forth  the 
nauseous  bitter  filth  and  thrust  away 
the  glass,  they  laughed  until  they 
cried.  Mr.  Button  rallied  him  a  lit- 
tle on  his  inexperience  ;  but  Adrian 
said, — 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what,CousinWilliam, 
there  's  only  one  thing  that  I  should 
wonder  at  more  than  at  seeing  decent 
fellows  act  as  if  the}-  enjoyed  that 
hell-broth." 

"  What 's  that,  by  (  )  ?  "  inquired 
Mr.  Button,  with  interest. 

"  Why,  I  should  wonder  more  to 
see  airybod}-,  except  a  natural  fool, 
who  should  be  afraid  to  sa}'  he  abom- 
inated it,  or  who  should  be  joked 
into  even  smelling  at  it  a  second  time. 
Phew !  Give  me  that  other  thing, 
please,  Mr.  Barkeeper." 

It  was  done,  and  the  quartette 
drank  a  solemn  toast  to  the  health  and 
prosperit}'  of  the  Scrope  Association, 
and  of  Mr.  Agent  Scrope  in  particu- 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  hibrary. 


155 


lar.  And  Mr.  Button,  who  had  evi- 
dently been  drinking  before,  pro- 
ceeded to  bawl  out  that  ancient  cho- 
rus,— 

"  For  he 's  a  jolly  good  fellow," 
with  a  rather  uncertain  modulation, 
and  to  tack  on  to  the  end  of  it  the 
next  song  that  happened  to  come  into 
his  head,  having  a  curious  refrain 
of— 

"Skittyittyittyittykadink,  a  dink,  a  dink  a 
dido," 

quite  too  curious  and  elaborate,  in 
fact,  for  his  fuddled  tongue ;  for  he 
both  broke  down  in  the  attempt  to 
execute  the  swift  quadruplicate  rep- 
etition of  its  first  half,  and  smashed 
all  to  pieces  the  glass  he  held  in  his 
hand,  in  trj'ing  to  beat  time  with  it 
on  the  counter.  He  then  proceeded 
to  order  "  four  more,  by  (  ),"  in  his 
usual  roaring,  peremptory  way,  on 
which  Mr.  Bird,  winking  at  Adrian, 
said, — 

"  All  right  —  go  on,  bo3*s,  we  '11  be 
right  back  —  Mr.  Chester  and  I  want 
to  just  look  in  a  moment  over  the 
way." 

And  rising,  he  nodded  at  Adrian, 
who  took  the  hint  and  followed  him 
out. 

"  I  wanted  to  say  a  word  to  }*ou, 
Mr.  Chester,"  he  said,  "  and  I  reckon 
you  are  willing  to  get  away  from  those 
fellows  anyhow." 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  said  Adrian,  very 
sincerely. 

"  Well,  just  walk  up  a  block  or 
two,  and  we'll  cross  over  to  Wash- 
ington Square." 

They  did  so,  and  as  they  were  well 
wrapped  up,  found  it  no  hardship  to 
sit  a  while  on  one  of  the  seats  in  the 
snowy  open  square. 

"  There,"  said  Bird,  "  we  '11  settle 
about  running  away  next  time  we  see 
them.     What  I  wanted   was  to  say 


to  3Tou  that  I  had  a  note  from  Doctor 
Veroil  about  some  matters  that  you 
are  interested  in ;  and  that  I  will 
certainly  do  all  I  can  to  arrange  the 
affair  comfortably  all  round." 

Mr.  Bird's  quiet,  steady  manner  in 
any  business  of  importance,  his  com- 
posed bearing,  that  indescribable  tex- 
ture of  expressions  which  belonged 
to  his  calm,  intelligent  face,  —  "  good 
sense,"  we  say  it  indicates  ;  nobody 
has  described  what  it  is  in  a  face  that 
makes  us  ascribe  "  good  sense  "  to 
it,  but  we  know  it  if  we  see  it ;  —  all 
this  operated  on  Adrian  just  as  Ad- 
rian's own  ready  kindliness  and  swift 
penetrating,  sympathetic  intelligence 
did  on  others  ;  and  he  fell  into  an 
unreserved  discussion  of  Civille's  af- 
fairs far  more  easily  than  he  could 
have  imagined  to  be  possible.  After  a 
good  deal  of  consultation  the}*  agreed 
that  she  was  undoubtedly  quite  be- 
3-ond  any  suspicion,  except  so  far  as 
any  very  delicate  and  sensitive  wo- 
man whatever  may  be  capable  of  fall- 
ing into  insanity  ;  that  the  real  ques- 
tion was,  not  whether  Civille  had 
stolen,  but  who  had  stolen  ;  and  that 
the  proper  line  of  operations  was,  to 
keep  perfectly  silent,  and  try  to  trap 
the  real  thief. 

"  There  's  so  much  shop-lifting, 
however,"  Bird  said  at  last,  "  and  so 
manjr  of  these  respectable  thieves  — 
they  've  got  up  a  long  name  on  pur- 
pose for  'em,"  he  commented,  — 
"  anybody  must  be  pretty  well  off  to 
be  able  to  afford  such  a  long  name 
as  kleptomaniac  —  that  it 's  a  pretty 
difficult  job  to  catch  the  right  one. 
And  there  's  one  very  disagreeable 
circumstance  you  don't  know  of —  it 
don't  prove  aii3-thing  to  me,  not  yet 
at  least,  but  it  would  make  trouble 
if  it  were  known  —  " 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  but  con- 
tinued,  looking   very   steadiby    into 


156 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


Adrian's  e3Tes,  "I  'ni  sure  you  '11  un- 
derstand me,  Mr.  Chester,  I  mean  just 
that ;  it  don't  prove  anything.  I  have 
seen  Olds  since  I  heard  from  Dr.  Ver- 
oil,  and  that's  how  I  came  to  know 
it.  And  it  won't  be  mentioned,  you 
need  n't  be  afraid  of  that,  but  some 
of  Jenks  and  Trainor's  stolen  goods, 
some  laces,  were  certainly  found  in 
Miss  Van  Braam's  possession." 

Adrian  was  a  very  steady  and 
strong  young  fellow,  but  at  this  plain 
assertion,  a  deep  sinking  pain  at  the 
heart  turned  him  so  white  that  Bird 
looked  almost  alarmed,  and  repeated 
his  assurances. 

"  I  know  so  much  about  such  mat- 
ters," he  reiterated,  "  that  the  fact  is 
to  me  only  a  fact.  M3-  theoiy  is,  that 
the  real  thief  put  the  goods  where 
they  were  found." 

But  Adrian's  Puritan  descent  and 
training,  and  his  Scrope  traits,  shy 
of  every  publicity,  inexpressibly  hor- 
rified at  the  publicity  of  crime,  made 
this  en  3umstance  peculiarly  horrible 
to  him,  particularly  as  his  vivid  imagi- 
nation reinforced  it  with  all  its  pos- 
sible associations  and  consequences  ; 
and  it  was  not  until  after  many  repe- 
titions ind  enforcements  of  the  argu- 
ments vrhich  the  reporter  used,  that 
he  could,  even  in  part,  recover  from 
the  shock.  He  however  thanked 
Bird,  very  justly,  for  letting  him 
understand  exactly  how  the  matter 
stood. 

"  Now,"  he  continued,  "  I  want  to 
see  this  Olds.  I  want  to  judge  for 
myself  what  manner  of  man  he  is. 
By  what  Mr.  Van  Braam  said,  he 
must  look  something  like  a  prize 
hog.  I  never  should  pick  out  such  a 
creature  for  a  detective,  I  'm  sure ; 
and  it  makes  me  uncomfortable  to 
think  of  his  rooting  and  snouting 
about  within  a  hundred  miles  of 
Civille." 


And,  in  truth,  anybody  out  of  all 
the  thousands  who  in  those  dajrs  saw 
this  eminent  detective  laboring  along 
the  street  while  he  was  in  the  full 
career  of  his  usefulness,  might  very 
naturally  have  made  the  same  obser- 
vation as  to  his  zoolog}'. 

"  Necessarjr  evils,  detectives  are," 
said  the  reporter.  "  Some  very  bad 
fellows  among  them,  and  some  very 
decent  ones.  As  for  Olds,  don't 
you  see  that  his  very  waddling  and 
wheezing,  and  general  tallowy,  stupid 
look,  may  be  an  excellent  disguise  ? 
If  he  can  make  a  thief  think  him  just 
that,  it  helps  catch  the  thief.  Well, 
he  has  a  sort  of  whim  of  never  being 
at  his  rooms  except  in  the  evening  ; 
and  I  can't  go  with  you  to-night,  for 
1  've  got  to  arrange  down  at  the  of- 
fice, so  that  I  can  be  at  Mr.  Button's 
celebration.  I  '11  just  give  you  a  card. 
Olds  knows  me,  and  he'll  be  civil." 

So  he  wrote  "  from  Bird  "  on  the 
back  of  a  business  card,  and  gave  it 
to  Adrian,  noting  at  the  same  time 
the  address,  which  was  in  a  "  public 
building,"  on  Broadway,  near  the 
New  York  Hotel,  and  the  young  men 
parted. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

It  is  not  quite  true  philosophically, 
though  it  may  be  practically,  that 

"  All  thoughts,  all  passions,  all  delights, 
Whatever  stirs  this  mortal  frame, 
All  are  hut  ministers  of  Love, 
And  feed  his  sacred  flame." 

Not  quite.  For  instance,  try  an- 
ger ;  try  hunger  ;  try  fright ;  try  love 
of  property;  tiy  love  of  power  !  Not 
quite  all,  dear  Coleridge  !  But  a  good 
many  of  them.  Love,  full,  complete, 
perfect  human  love,  is  to  feel,  and 
express,  and  receive  the  counterpart 
of,  all  the  attractions  which  make  one 
human  being  desire  another ;  admi- 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


157 


ration,  respect,  friendship,  enjoy- 
ment, sympatlry  (i.  e.  co-enjoyment), 
affection,  passion.  All  these  are  un- 
selfish. As  for  the  selfish  conscious- 
nesses which  the  wonderful  English 
minnesinger,  by  a  noble  material  fal- 
lacy included  in  his  assertion,  they 
are  comprehended,  if  at  all,  only  neg- 
ative^, as  crime  and  misery  are  in- 
cluded in  Christian  society,  to  be 
reversed  and  eliminated.  But  with- 
out any  one  of  those  unselfish  ele- 
ments, Love,  though  it  may  be  Love, 
is  imperfect.  Still  more,  or  rather 
most  of  all,  is  an}-  one  of  them  alone 
an  imperfect  love.  The  old  saw  that 
"  Pity  is  akin  to  Love,"  is  just  as  true, 
and  no  more,  as  that  beauty  is  con- 
cerned with  love.  The  beautiful  ob- 
ject must  be  lovable  too  ;  the  pitied 
object  must  be  lovable  too,  before 
there  can  be  a  love  in  consequence 
of  the  beauty  or  of  the  pity.  When 
Xerxes  bejewelled  the  beautiful  tree, 
he  showed  how  love  for  a  tree  is  not 
love.  Whatever  love  comes  of  pity 
may  be  felt  for  a  dog.  Of  sympathy 
in  the  sense  of  co-suffering,  of  pain 
b}r  reason  of  the  pain  of  another,  the 
like  is  true.  Whatever  love  comes 
of  such  sympathy,  may  be  felt  by 
man  for  beast,  or  by  man  for  man. 
It  is  the  sympathy  of  co-enjo3*ment 
which  is  a  necessary  part  of  love. 

Surrender  is  the  measure  of  love. 
This  is  true  equally  towards  God  and 
man  ;  the  truth  is  so  deep  as  to  be 
of  the  substructure  of  both  loves,  and 
it  is  conclusive  accordingfy  of  the 
criterion  of  unselfishness  for  human 
love.  And  let  no  one  say  that  such 
an  analysis  is  cold  or  passionless. 
It  is,  or  at  least  is  susceptible  of  be- 
ing, vivid  with  a  sustained,  deliberate 
passion  which  is  to  any  other  what 
the  sun's  steady,  white  heat  is  to  the 
thin  flash  of  tinder. 

No  such  analysis  as  this  was  pass- 


ing through  Adrian's  mind,  however, 
as  he  approached  Mr.  Button's  man- 
sion that  evening.  He  was  in  a  some- 
what confused  or  questioning,  and 
waiting  frame  of  mind,  from  a  num- 
ber of  causes. 

He  had  visited  Mr.  Olds,  the  de- 
tective, early  in  the  evening.  That 
immense  personage  had  wheezed  and 
gobbled  forth  an  awkwardly  worded, 
but  sufficiently  clear  statement,  agree- 
ing in  substance  with  what  Adrian 
already  knew.  This,  indeed,  was  not 
what  Adrian  went  for ;  he  wanted, 
to  use  a  scriptural  phrase,  to  dis- 
cern his  spirit.  In  this  he  was  puz- 
zled, as  was  natural  enough.  We  get 
our  impressions  about  a  man's  soul 
exclusively  through  physical  media 
If  these  media  are  unfamiliar,  we  can- 
not recognize  the  impressions  ;  and 
this  exceptional,  vast,  fat  grossness 
acted  as  a  perfectl}'  impenetrable  cur- 
tain before  the  soul  of  Mr.  Olds.  The 
best  Adrian  could  conclude  was,  that 
the  big  man  seemed  to  show  a  rough 
and  vulgar  good  humor  as  well  as 
good  sense  ;  but  this  was  not  enough, 
and  Adrian  remained  accordingly  in 
doubt  what  might  be  his  influence 
upon  the  fortunes  of  Civille. 

Burdened,  therefore,  with  the  con- 
stant pain  of  this  heavy  doubt  about 
herself,  and  with  the  perhaps  keener 
pain  of  a  sympathy  for  her  poor 
old  father,  Adrian  was  to  do  his  best 
to  make  the  evening  a  pleasant  one 
to  both.  But  he  was  to  do  this  in  the 
verj-  focus  of  other  interests,  all  con- 
verging upon  him  like  a  succession  of 
burning  glasses  on  one  and  the  same 
object.  He  was  hourly  becoming  more 
and  more  conscious  that  he  was  en- 
gaged to  Ann  Button.  This  engage- 
ment had  subsisted,  almost  unfelt, 
hardly  more  than  an  acquaintance, 
for  a  year  or  two  ;  permitted  rather 
than  encouraged,  as  the  couple  were 


158  Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 

so  young.  Adrian's  offer  to  her,  as  Now,  however,  to  the  stinging  of 
Civille  told  Mr.  Scrope  on  the  even-  his  suffering  for  the  unconscious 
ing  when  he  first  met  Adrian  at  her  Civille,  and  for  her  sensitive  and  too 
father's,  had  been  really  an  effect  not  conscious  father,  was  added  the  un- 
of  love,  but  of  sympathy  and  pit}-  for  easy  questioning  of  a  half-awakened 
unhappiness.  Ann  was,  not  to  the  ex-  consciousness  of  his  own,  which  took 
tent  of  being  persecuted,  but  to  that  the  shape  of  a  feeling  of  remorse  and 
of  being  unpopular,  a  solitary  and  un-  shame  for  becoming  recreant  to  his 
loved  girl ;  diy-natured,  close,  jeal-  highest  obligations  ;  and  the  steadily 
ous,  bitter,  resolute,  fearless,  hard,  increasing  repugnance  which  he  was 
exacting.  The  mere  kind-hearted-  hourly  feeling  for  Mr.  and  for  Mrs. 
ness  of  the  young  man, — none  but  Button,  for  their  son,  and  all  their 
the  impulsively  benevolent  can  com-  works  and  ways,  was  growing  and 
prehend  the  statement,  —  the  mere  growing,  also  in  the  form,  as  he  saw 
unresisted  power  of  kindly  impulse,  it,  of  wrong  feelings  which  he  ought 
had  sent  him  to  her  side,  had  de-  to  subdue.  And  all  of  them,  in  a 
voted  him  to  her  service,  had  caused  fashion  which  he  could  not  under- 
liim  to  offer  her  his  whole  life,  as  one  stand  at  all,  seemed  only  to  be  the 
takes  up  the  cause  of  the  deserted  stronger  for  his  struggling  against 
and  helpless.  It  was  greatly  less  them ;  a  sorrowful  puzzle  it  was. 
strange  that  she  should  accept  him  ;  Then  over  and  above  all  this  were 
he  was  a  goodly  young  man,  and  it  the  business  offers  of  Mr.  Button, 
was  a  real  triumph,  one  which  she  guardedly  made,  it  is  true,  but  yet  in 
very  deeply  enjoyed,  that  with  her  such  a  way  that,  as  Adrian  knew  per- 
homely  features  and  uulovely  wa^-s,  fectly  well,  he  had  only  to  consent,  to 
she  should  cany  him  off  from  so  many  receive  an  establishment  for  life  and 
bright  and  attractive  girls,  although  ample  wealth.  The  very  greatness 
she  had  never  seemed  exactly  to  be  — pecuniarily  speaking  —  of  the  op- 
conscious  of  the  way  in  which  they  portunity  oppressed  him.  It  is  only 
regarded  —  or  disregarded  —  her.  It  a  low  nature  that  will  grasp  with 
was  of  course,  too,  that  she  should  unconditional  eagerness  at  money 
be  the  very  last  to  see  what  his  real  chances  or  money  certainties.  Ad- 
motive  had  been.  "Whatever  she  did  rian  liked  the  use  of  money,  no  doubt ; 
not  attribute  to  her  own  attractions,  but  it  was  with  a  genuine  and  pro- 
she  attributed  to  her  father's  wealth  ;  found  repugnance  that  he  thought  of 
and  it  did  not  trouble  her  that  this  giving  up,  as  he  must,  if  he  bowed 
should  avail  in  her.  behalf.  Indeed,  his  neck  to  the  Buttonian  yoke,  the 
to  a  nature  like  hers,  it  seemed  a  per-  whole  of  what  he  loved, —  accomplish- 
fectly  satisfactory  motive.  And  it  ments,  knowledge,  all  beautiful  and 
is  —  within  its  proper  limit.  How  noble  growths  of  mind  and  soul, 
should  she  know  his  real  motive?  She  Were  such  hesitations  foolish?  The 
had  not  the  faculties  to  recognize  such  road  along  which  Mr.  Button  pointed 
a  motive  ;  he  did  not  know  what  it  was  was  one  where  angels  would  fear  to 
himself.  Neither  of  them  knew  love  ;  tread,  and  surely  a  pure  and  brave 
whatever  sentiment  they  had  for  each  young  soul  was  excusable  for  hesi- 
other,  in  him  compassion,  in  her  sel-  fating. 

fishness  and  pride,  they  ignorantly  However,  Adrian,  among  his  other 

thought  was  such.  good  gifts,  had  one  right  rare  one. 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library.  159 

He  could  put  troubles  and  perplexi-  contrived  to  gather  at  short  notice, 
ties  aside  by  a  resolute  exertion  of  But  in  New  York,  as  of  old,  you  can 
will,  and  occupy  himself  fully  with  always  fill  the  places  at  the  banquet 
rest  or  recreation,  still  more  with  con-  in  some  way,  if  not  with  somebodies, 
tributing  to  the  enjoyment  of  others,  then  with  common  folks.  Nobodies 
So,  as  he  was  shown  up  the  tall  all  are  better  than  nobody  at  all. 
stairway  to  the  gentlemen's  dressing-  In  gatherings  so  unforeseen  and 
room,  and  laid  off  his  overcoat  and  hasty  as  this,  the  progress  of  affairs 
adjusted  his  costume,  he  also  laid  off  is  always  more  or  less  like  that  pro- 
his  cares,  and  adjusted  his  mind,  cess  of  hatching  eggs  which  embryol- 
Mr.  Scrope  and  Mr.  Bird,  who  had  ogists  call  segmentation.  The  com- 
just  arrived,  were  also,  as  the  reporter  pany  keeps  gathering  into  small 
remarked,  "  putting  the  last  touches  groups  of  such  as  know  each  other, 
on  their  war-paint,"  and  all  three  These  hang  together  in  a  comfortless, 
went  down  to  the  parlors  together.  helpless  way,  very  like  the  ship- 
Mr.  Button's  home  was  what  they  wrecked  sailors  of  the  "  Polaris  "  on 
call  in  New  York,  with  an  apparent  their  little  floe,  until  there  intervenes 
contradiction ofterms, a kk  high  stoop"  a  supper,  or  music,  or  a  reading,  or 
house  ;  having  a  lofty  flight  of  steps  something  of  that  generalized  kind, 
to  the  front  door,  so  that  there  was  which  at  once  resolves  the  whole  into 
a  pretty  high  basement,  in  which  was  separate  atoms  again.  The  enter- 
the  dining-room.  The  first  floor  was  tainer,  if  skilful,  is  constantly  circu- 
entirely  filled  with  the  long  range  lating  about,  breaking  up  or  recombin- 
of  three  great  parlors  :  lofty  and  ing  these  groups,  as  they  stir  maple 
richly  furnished  rooms,  but  hopelessly  sugar  in  the  kettle  to  keep  it  in  the 
stiff  and  cold  in  effect,  as  if  Mrs.  grained  state.  Now  Mrs.  Button  and 
Button  herself  had  stood  still  in  the  Ann  were  only  moderately  skilled  in 
midst  thereof  and  let  the  rooms  etna-  this  art,  and  so  their  guests  were  a 
nate  from  her.  Even  such  attempts  little  too  segregate.  Adrian,  how- 
as  there  were  at  art  decoration  only  ever,  and  Civille,  having  good  capa- 
made  the  frost  more  arctic,  and  the  cities  for  the  work,  circulated  and 
very  north  and  south  poles,  one  chatted,  and  served  as  a  kind  of 
might  say,  were  a  couple  of  fearful  aides-de-camp,  and  kept  things  going 
full-length  portraits,  one  of  Mr.  But-  with  immense  vigor  and  persever- 
ton,  and  one  of  his  spouse,  that  stif-  ance,  and  a  good  deal  of  success, 
fencd  at  each  other  from  opposite  First,  however,  of  course,  the  three 
places  on  the  walls.  There  was  a  j'oung  men  did  obeisance  unto  Mrs. 
pretty  numerous  and  friendly  assem-  Button,  who  was  all  shiny  in  a  new 
bly,  however;  for  the  requisite  num-  put  pie  silk,  almost  as  stiff  and  re- 
ber  had  easily  been  made  out  by  in-  splendent  as  japanned  tin  ;  and  then 
viting  plenty  of  young  and  old  from  to  Miss  Button,  standing  near,  whose 
"the  church";  so  that,  in  fact,  it  costume  made  a  surprising  exhibi- 
might  be  considered  a  sort  of  love-  tion  of  her  anatomy.  The  tendency 
feast  jointly  celebrated  by  Dr.  Toom-  towards  low-neckedness  of  dress  on 
ston's  church  and  the  Scrope  A  ssocia-  the  part  of  ladies  other  than  fat,  is 
tion.  In  the  midst  of  them,  here  and  undeniable,  but  easily  explained.  It 
there,  were  a  few  celebrities,  literary  is  the  flesh,  and  not  the  bones,  that 
and  other,  such  as  the  hostess  had  we  are  shy  of  showing ;  as  it  is  the 


160 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


flesh,  and  not  the  bones,  whose 
temptations  we  are  commanded  to 
shun.  Therefore,  of  coarse,  the 
leaner  a  lady  is,  the  lower  her  dress 
may  be  cut  in  the  neck  without  im- 
propriety. 

The  official  greetings  over,  the 
three  friends  were  quickly  launched 
upon  the  tide  of  social  enjo3*ment  by 
Mrs.  Button  herself,  who  presented 
all  three,  as  a  beginning,  to  a  group 
of  substantial  persons,  which  in- 
cluded Mr.  Button,  Mr.  Stanley,  old 
Mr.  Adam  Welles,  who  looked  rather 
apprehensive  and  out  of  place,  a  few 
others  of  the  Scrope  connection,  and 
also  the  famous  Mr.  Kalokagathos, 
from  Greece,  now  investigating  the 
social  and  political  situation  of  the 
United  States  ;  the  celebrated  Ger- 
man philologist,  Herr  von  Kladdera- 
datsch,  and  the  eminent  female  re- 
former, Mrs.  Hett}-  Maginn,  so  often 
and  impertinently  nicknamed  "  Hit- 
'em-again  "  by  those  jackanapes,  the 
newspaper  men,  by  reason  of  her 
energetic  and  combative  ways.  But, 
as  she  often  said  herself,  the  leader 
in  a  great, cause  must  have  the  qual- 
ities of  a  fighter  as  well  as  a  com- 
mander. And,  indeed,  her  coarse, 
red  face  was  appropriate,  and  her 
brawny  and  athletic  figure,  and 
strong,  rasping  voice,  might  have 
made  her  part  good  in  any  melee. 

Any  crowd  magnetizes,  i  The  life 
and  light  of  the  large  rooms,  whose 
cold  and  stiff  appointments  were 
greatly  relieved  by  the  thi'ong  that 
stood  or  moved  within  them,  instantly 
acted  upon  Adrian,  who  was  already 
resolutely  bent  upon  enjoyment ;  for 
himself  if  possible,  for  others  at  an}' 
rate.  His  e3"es  shone  already,  the 
color  already  rose  in  his  cheeks,  and 
before  a  word  had  been  said,  he  felt 
a  sort  of  light  and  elevation  in  his 
intellect :    all  his  wits    and   all  his 


senses  —  and  his  nonsenses,  too  — 
sprang  up,  wide  awake,  and  danced 
with  impatience  for  some  activity. 

"  Good-evening,  Adrian,"  said  Mr. 
Button,  with  hospitable  fervor,  and 
with  a  heartiness  which  was,  in  fact, 
increased  by  his  greatly  increased 
respect  for  Adrian  since  his  prompt 
action  and  forcible  speech  at  the  as- 
sociation. "  Glad  to  see  ye.  Now 
fust  thing,  be  sure  and  look  in 't  the 
office  to-morrow  morning  at  ten 
exact,  will  ye  ? " 

"I  will,"  said  Adrian,  "if  I'm 
alive." 

Then  the}'  all  greeted  him  as  he 
was  presented,  and  Mrs.  Maginn, 
looking  approvingly  upon  him,  ob- 
served, — 

"  You  don't  look  now  very  much  as 
if  you  would  be  dead  to-morrow,  Mr. 
Chester !  " 

"  I  don't  feel  so  either,  madam  ; 
but  I  think  very  likely  some  of  the 
people  on  whom  the  tower  of  Siloam 
fell  were  as  lively  as  I  am  at  the 
moment." 

"  Mercy  !  "  said  the  lady,  "  I  hope 
3:011  don't  mean  that  this  house  is  the 
tower  of  Siloam,  and  going  to  fall  on 
us  ?  " 

"  0,  no,  madam,"  with  a  smile  and 
a  polite  bow.  "  I  feel  much  more  as 
if  it  were  the  pool  of  Bethesda,  and 
I  saw  the  angel  just  come  down  to 
stir  up  the  waters." 

"  O,  thank  3-011 !  Very  pretty 
indeed,"  said  the  stout  old  angel, 
highh'  delighted,  as  eveiybod}-  really 
is  at  a  compliment,  no  matter  if  they 
know  it  is  mere  talk. 

"  I  have  been  at  Jerusalem  last 
summer,"  observed  Mr  Kaloka- 
gathos, in  pretty  good  English. 
■  "  Wal,"  inquired  Mr.  Button,  "  is 
it  a  fact  that  they  have  better  arti- 
chokes there  than  an3Twhere  else  ?  " 

The  Greek  gentleman  stared  and 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


161 


said,  "  I  beg  your  pardon ! "  Adrian, 
however,  interposed,  saying  rather 
impertinently,  it  must  be  confessed, 
"  They've  dug  them  all  up  excavat- 
ing for  the  Palestine  Exploration 
Society." 

"  Ah,  ja,"  here  remarked  the  Ger- 
man philologist;  "very  interesting 
mason's  marks  and  remains  there,  on 
the  wall  of  the  Haram." 

"  Numbers  to  direct  the  builders, 
are  they  not?  "  asked  Adrian. 

"  I  could  not  array  them  in  a  nu- 
merical order,"  said  Ilerr  von  Klad- 
deradatsch,  in  his  queer  English. 
"  But  1  think  to  have  a  similitude 
with  Runic  numerals  on  the  Dighton 
Stone  traced,  and  some  more  on 
an  Indian  relic  to  New  Hampshire 
out." 

"Ah  ?  "  said  Adrian.  "  Then  you 
are  studying  Indian  philology  ?  Their 
numerals  are  very  curious,  some  of 
them.  I  remember  when  I  was  a  boy, 
learning  a  Popatomcock  numeration 
table,  to  a  scale  of  five  instead  of 
ten." 

"What  was  that?"  asked  the 
German,  eagerly.  "  Will  you  it  put 
down  for  me,  please  ?  Can  you  re- 
member him?" 

"  0  yes."  And  Adrian  solemnly 
recited  the  following  mysterious  list, 
sometimes  taught  to  3'oung  persons 
in  New  England. 

"  Een,  teen,  tuthery,  futhery,  pip  ; 
sayther,  layther,  co,  Jeffrey,  dix ; 
eendix,  teendix,  tutherdix,  futherdix, 
bump  ;  eenbump,  teenbump,  tuther- 
bump,  futherbump,  giggets." 

"  Ah,  so?  "  cried  the  German,  in 
great  excitement,  "  this  is  all  most 
wonderful !  And  will  you  note  him 
for  me  down?  " 

"  O,  certainly."  And  Adrian 
wrote  the  words  on  a  card,  while  the 
others  looked  on  with  sufficiently 
puzzled    faces,    and    the     linguist 


plunged  into  an  oration  on  the  paral- 
lelisms of  een  and  ein  and  one,  pip 
and  fif  or  five,  dix  and  decern,  and 
many  others  which  he  found  amongst 
these  numerals  and  the.  German, 
Latin,  Welch,  and  forty  or  fifty  sets 
more. 

Then  he  began  to  inquire  for  the 
authorities  about  the  Popatomcocks. 
The  tribe  is  extinct,  Adrian  said  ; 
it  used  to  be  established  near  where 
New  Haven  is  now.  Authorities  very 
scanty  ;  and  he  referred  him  to  that 
profound  work,  De  Forest's  History 
of  the  Indians  of  Connecticut,  but 
added  that  he  had  learned  their  war- 
whoop  when  he  learned  their  numer- 
als. This  the  philosopher  was  eager 
to  hear,  and  Adrian,  without  stopping 
to  think,  gave  a  tremendous  Indian 
yell,  slapping  his  mouth  with  his 
hand  secundum  artem,  insomuch  that 
his  audience  almost  jumped  off  the 
floor  with  astonishment,  and  a  small 
chorus  of  little  squeals  from  all  the 
women,  and  then  a  surprised  silence, 
followed. 

Mr.  Button  looked  rather  con- 
founded, and  was  just  saying,  "  Wal, 
young  man,"  when  Doctor  Veroil's 
pleasant  voice  was  heard ;  he  laid 
hold  on  Adrian's  shoulder,  saying,  — 

"  Here,  what  nonsense  are  you  up 
to  now  ?  —  how  are  you,  Mr.  Button  ? 
Good  evening,  Mrs.  Maginn  ;  come, 
Chester,  the  girls  want  you  and 
Scrope  and  Bird." 

And  the  jolly  physician  hauled  them 
away,  leaving  the  astonished  seniors 
to  compose  their  minds. 

Civille,  Ann,  and  a  little  knot  of 
young  people,  were  gathered  near 
the  folding-doors. 

"What  was  that  awful  noise?" 
asked  one  of  them. 

"  This  young  Sioux  here,"  said  the 
doctor,  pointing  to  Adrian,  "was 
shouting  his  war-cry,  that 's  all.  He  '11 


162 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


scalp  you  if  }tou  irritate  him,  so  look 
out." 

"  He  could  raise  my  hair  easily 
enough,"  said  the  saucy  girl,  —  a 
merry  thing  with  bright  black  eyes, 
—  "  without  troubling  my  scalp  " 

Miss  Button  looked  very  prim  at 
so  open  an  avowal,  but  the  others 
laughed,  though  they  blushed. 

"  Switch,  hey  ?  "  said  the  doctor. 
"  Well,  you  deserve  another  kind 
of  switch  for  wearing  that  kind. 
What  horrible  nonsense  it  is  !  " 

"  What  nonsense  ?  "  inquired  Mrs. 
Maginn,  who  liked  to  be  where  some- 
thing was  going  on,  and  now  sailed 
up. 

"  Wearing  false  hair,"  said  the 
doctor,  "  and  feminine  humbugs 
generally." 

"  You  men  are  to  blame,"  said 
Mrs.  Maginn  ;  41  we  are  fools  enough 
to  adorn  ourselves  to  please  you." 

••  Nonsense,"  cried  the  doctor ; 
"  you  dress  to  please  each  other, 
or  rather  to  plague  each  other. 
Just  see  how  you  women  quiz  each 
other's  rigs  in  the  street :  so  you  do 
here.  There  is  n't  one  of  you  now, 
that  could  n't  shut  her  eyes  and  make 
a  full  inventory  of  every  visible  arti- 
cle on  every  other  woman  in  this 
set !  " 

They  laughed,  but  they  did  not 
deny  it.  Mrs.  Maginn  candidly 
avowed  that  it  was  a  shame  to  them. 

"  Yes,"  said  Veroil,  sharply,  "  and 
a  stumbling-block  to  you  women  suf- 
fragists iu  particular.  If  you  can't 
improve  such  a  small  matter  as  wo- 
men's dresses,  you  certainly  can't  im- 
prove their  social  and  political  situ- 
ation. Idiots  and  Indians  don't  vote, 
nor  babies.  What's  the  reason?  It's 
because  the}-  are  all  alike  in  being  un- 
developed in  mind  —  all  substantially 
savages.  You  women  —  your  dress 
is  savage.     It's  out  of  the  question 


for  a  man  to  vote  as  long  as  he  is  so 
savage  as  to  stick  feathers  in  his  top- 
knot and  paint  his  face  and  flutter 
himself  out  with  streamers  and 
things,  as  only  a  savage,  or  a  fool, 
or  a  child,  or  a  woman,  does.  The 
quality  and  quantity  of  mind  that 
permits  the  ornament  prohibits  the 
vote.  I  tell  you,  until  you  can  make 
the  women  quit  rigging  out  those 
spanker  booms  behind  them,"  —  here 
the  doctor  pointed  with  a  grin  at  a 
finely  developed panier  or  two,  where- 
at the  wearers  thereof  instinctively 
smoothed  down  the  same  as  if  to 
quench  them,  and  then  looked  both 
annoyed  and  vexed,  —  "  and  those 
wild  jungles  of  things  on  their  heads 
in  the  street,  and  hair  off  corpses, 
and  all  such  savage  fooleries,  —  until 
you  can  make  them  quit  all  that, 
there's  no  danger  that  you  '11  get  the 
suffrage  !  " 

"There's  too  much  truth  in  what 
you  say,  doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Maginn. 

"  But,  doctor,"  said  Adrian  ;  "  you 
said  the  young  ladies  wanted'  me. 
What  for  ?  " 

"  O,  only  on  general  principles. 
They  always  want  gentlemen." 

k-  Why.  you  villain  !  "  cried  Mrs. 
Hetty  Maginn,  with  a  great  affecta 
tion  of  fury.  "  We  don't  want  him 
nor  you  any  more  than  a  toad  wants 
a  tail  Now  you're  here,  you  may 
as  well  entertain  us,  though.  You 
must  either  sing  a  song  or  tell  a 
story  —  that's  the  old  rule." 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  I  '11  begin.  I  can't  sins  a  note,  — 
was  put  out  of  the  class  by  the  sing- 
ing-master because  I  put  all  the  rest 
out  if  I  stayed  in.  So  I'll  give  a 
song." 

And  sure  enough,  he  struck  up 
with  the  most  extraordinary  tuneless 
croak  that  can  be  imagined,  but  with 
so  little  noise  at  first,  that  everybody 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


163 


listened  carefully,  —  those  graceful 
words  of  Longfellow's  :  — 

"  I  know  a  maiden  fair  to  see, 
TAKE    CARE!" 

he  shouted  suddenly,  without  the 
least  notice ;  and  there  was  such 
jumping  and  such  squalls  !  — 

"  There,"  said  he  coolly,  to  Adrian, 
who,  the  fact  is,  had  really  been  as 
much  startled  as  anybody,  —  "  that 's 
to  pay  3rou  for  your  yell  just  now ! 
It 's  your  turn  :  so  now  for  your  song 
or  your  story." 

"  Well,"  said  Adrian,  —  "  but  per- 
haps Herr  von  Kladderadatsch  "  — 
the  philologist  was  just  passing  by  — 
"  can  tell  us  some  German  ghost 
story  ?  " 

"  O,  ja  ! "  said  he,  good-naturedly  ; 
"  let  me  to  think.  So  —  yes.  Not  a 
ghost  story,  exactly,  but  of  interest, 
—  '  The  Story  of  the  German  Pas- 
tor.' " 

And  lie  began  in  a  stead}',  even, 
slow,  delaying  way,  as  if  he  were 
translating  it  all  deliberately  inside 
as  ho  went  along,  as  no  doubt  he 
was  :  — 

"As  I  was  walking  upon  the  sea- 
shore one  morning  (this  is  what  the 
German  Pastor  said),  I  saw  a  man 
standing  by  the  shore  of  the  sea,  and 
holding  a  pistol  to  his  head.  'My 
friend,'  I  said,  'why  do  you  hold  a 
pistol  to  your  head?  '  —  '  Because  I 
will  shoot  myself,'  said  he.  'But,' 
said  I,  '  why  will  you  do  this  wicked 
thing?  Do  not  commit  so  awful  a 
crime  ! '  —  '  Because,'  he  replied,  '  I 
am  plunged  in  the  deepest  misfor- 
tunes. I  have  lost  my  estates,  I  am 
exposed  to  the  utmost  legal  persecu- 
tions ;  my  hopes  are  ruined,  my  future 
is  only  rniseiy.  I  am  at  the  present 
moment  pursued  for  a  debt  by  one 
who  will  cast  me  into  prison,  and 
therefore  I  will  shoot  myself.'  — '  But,' 
I  said  again,  '  my  friend,  this  is  a 


terrible  violation  of  all  the  laws,  and 
will  remedy  no  evil.  What  is  the 
amount  for  which  you  are  pursued  at 
present?  ' —  '  Fifty  crowns,'  said  he. 
'  Well,  my  friend,  now  come  with  me 
to  the  parsonage  and  I  will  lend  you 
fifty  crowns  ;  and  by  no  means  pur- 
sue or  repeat  this  criminal  design  of 
shooting  yourself.'  He  accordingly 
accompanied  me,  and  we  set  out  to 
go  to  1113'  home.  As  we  approached, 
I  saw  that  the  door  was  shut,  and 
going  up  to  it,  T  knocked.  No  per- 
son came.  I  then  knocked  a  second 
time  at  the  door  of  my  house.  Still 
no  person  came  to  the  door.  I  ac- 
cordingly knocked  a  third  time,  and 
my  little  daughter  Fanny  came  to 
the  door.  Having  opened  it,  she 
started  back  at  seeing  me  accompa- 
nied by  a  person  whom  she  did  not 
know,  and  exclaimed,  '  My  father, 
who  is  this  strange  man  whom  you 
have  brought  home  with  you  ?  '  Said 
I,  '  My  daughter,  as  T  was  walking 
upon  the  sea-shore  this  morning,  I 
saw  this  man  standing  by  the  shore 
of  the  sea,  and  holding  a  pistol  to  his 
head.  "  My  friend,"  I  said,  "  why  do 
you  hold  a  pistol  —  "  ' 

"There,  there,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Maginn,  "  you  will  kill  us  all.  How 
many  times  would  that  long  story  be 
repeated  ?  " 

"  As  often  as  a  new  circumstance 
arises  in  the  narration,  Madame," 
blandly  explained  the  Professor. 

"  And  how  long  would  they  arise  ?" 

"  As  long  as  it  might  please  the 
ladies,"  replied  the  Professor,  his 
eyes  twinkling  through  his  spectacles. 

""  That's  two  abominable  deceits," 
said  Mrs.  Maginn.  "  Come,  we  '11  try 
who  has  the  nimblest  tongue,  —  no, 
let 's  try  '  Burying  the  City  '  first.  I 
only  learned  that  last  week,  and  I 
made  one  to-day  that  I  want  to  try 
you  with." 


164 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


All   acquiesced  politely,  and   she 

recited  the  not  quite  unknown  speci- 
men, — 

"  In  the  next  room  a  man  was 
almost  at  the  last  gasp,  and  all  night 
long  his  constant  hie  !  hie  !  agonized 
me  " 

"  Chicago,"  said  somebody,  after 
a  few  moments.  Several  others  were 
offered ;  and  at  last  Adrian  recited 
what  he  called,  — 

"Lines  from  'the  Russian  Prophecy.' 
"When  Slavon  sinewy,  or  Kalmuck  fierce, 
Through    all  embattled  Europe  west  shall 
pierce." 

It  took  them  quite  a  while  to  dis- 
inter "  New  York  "  out  of  that ;  and 
then  Mrs.  Hetty,  who  had  in  spite  of 
her  zeal  for  big  reforms,  a  decided 
liking  for  such  childish  rattletraps  as 
these,  insisted  on  her  nimble-tongue 
exercise,  as  she  called  it.  This  was 
only  the  very  juvenile  amusement  of 
trying  to  repeat,  without  error,  di- 
vers difficult  combinations  of  sounds  ; 
such  legends  as  those  of  Peter  Piper, 
of  Crazy  Craycroft,  and  Theophilus 
Thistle-sifter  ;  that  polar  poem  which 
tells  how 

"  Midst  thickest  mists  aud  stiffest  frosts, 
With  strongest  wrists  and  stoutest  boasts 
He  thrusts  his  fists  against  the  posts, 
And  still  insists  he  sees  the  ghosts." 

Mr.  Adam  Welles,  who  drifted  up 
to  them,  with  Mr.  Philetus  Stanlej-, 
suggested  the  short  rural  narrative, 
—  "A  skunk  jumped  off  from  a  stump 
into  a  skunk-hole."  Mr.  Stanley  gave, 
to  be  repeated  four  times  very  rap- 
idly, "  She  sells  sea-shells."  One  of 
the  young  ladies  suggested  one  which 
will  be  found  still  more  difficult,  also 
for  fourfold  repetition,  —  "Shoes 
and  socks  shock  Susan."  And  Mr. 
Bird,  who  had  been  listening  very 
quietly,  finally  suggested  the  hardest 
though  the  shortest  of  all,  to  be  re- 
peated in  like  manner,  very  fast  four 
times  —  "  Black  bug's  blood." 


After  they  had  all  tried  and  all 
failed  on  these  last  two,  and  indeed 
it  is  surprisingly  difficult  to  say  them 
in  this  manner,  Adrian  was  called  on 
for  his  song  or  story. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Stanle}* ;  "  if  3-ou 
had  heard  him  give  the  argument  on 
the  Scrope  genealog}-  yesterda}',  3-ou 
would  know  that  he  has  a  great  tal- 
ent for  narrative." 

"  We  '11  ave  both,"  said  Mr.  Scrope  ; 
"  e  sings  like  a  nightingale." 

"  Well,"  said  Adrian,  somewhat 
embarrassed  by  the  compliments, 
"but  one  at  a  time,  if  3-ou  please.  I 
have  n't  Sergeant  Odoherty's  talent 
of  articulating  and  accompanying 
nryself  on  the  trombone.  I  '11  tell 
3*011  a  ghost  story,  and  it 's  a  real  one. 
It  happened  to  me,  last  summer  —  " 

At  this  moment,  Mr.  Bird,  who 
had  been  standing  quietly  close  bj*, 
exclaimed,  as  if  to  himself,  "  I  de- 
clare, I  've  left  my  handkerchief  up- 
stairs, now  !  "  and  ran  out  to  get  it. 
Adrian,  casually  looking  out  into  the 
front  hall,  through  the  open  door  of 
the  back  parlor,  near  which  he  was, 
could  see  part  of  the  stairs  ;  and  on 
this,  he  saw  Bird,  who  was  springing 
swiftly  up,  pause  and  draw  to  one 
side,  to  let  a  woman  pass  down, —  one 
of  the  servants,  —  and,  as  Adrian  re- 
marked by  her  dress,  the  same  who 
had  a  few  moments  before  brushed 
past  him  on  some  errand  or  other, 
and  had  herself  proceeded  up-stairs. 
But  he  fancied  that  the  pause  on  the 
stairs  was  a  little  particular,  —  long 
enough,  in  fact,  for  some  words  to  be 
interchanged,  —  and  though  he  heard 
nothing,  something  in  the  carriage 
and  movement  of  their  heads  made 
him  imagine  that  Bird  spoke,  and  the 
hired  girl  assented.  With  a  mo- 
ment's displeasure  at  such  an  unsuit- 
able flirtation,  —  for  Bird,  as  Adrian 
had  already  often  reflected,  was  too 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


165 


much  of  a  man  and  of  a  gentleman  to 
be  indulging  in  some  of  the  low  pur- 
suits that  he  seemed  to  enjo3r,  —  Ad- 
rian turned  again  to  his  audience. 

The  young  ladies  showed  evident 
signs  of  fearful  interest ;  and  Adrian, 
assuming  a  grave  and  impressive 
manner,  related  as  follows  :  — 

"THE   DEAD   INDIAN. 

"  Just  without  the  southern  limits 
of  my  own  city  of  Hartford,  runs 
from  north  to  south  a  ridge  of  trap 
rock  commonly  called  Hartford  Rocky 
Hill ;  and  which,  as  I  recollect,  is 
figured  and  described  in  an  early 
number  of  Silliman's  Journal  of  Sci- 
ence, as  affording  a  remarkable  in- 
stance of  the  junction  of  trap  with 
sandstone.  Its  southern  portion  was 
formerly  the  scene  of  public  execu- 
tions, and  was  called  by  the  ill- 
omened  name  of  Gallows  Hill  Its 
precipitous  western  face  has  long 
been  quarried  for  stone  ;  while  from 
its  crest  the  ground  slopes  eastward 
in  a  broad  and  evenly  inclined  plane 
of  fertile  farming  land.  The  north- 
ern portion  of  this  slanting  tract  is 
intersected  by  various  lanes,  now, 
however,  disappearing  as  the  growing- 
city  stretches  southward,  throwing 
forward  its  feelers  of  surve}^,  and 
empty  new  streets,  unsightly  scars 
upon  the  bosom  of  the  earth. 

"  There  stands,  or  stood,  a  j-ear 
ago,  in  Zachary's  Lane,  as  one  of 
these  narrow  semi-rural  ways  is 
called,  a  huge  sycamore  tree,  one  or 
two  of  whose  lower  liinhs  ran  out 
horizontally  to  a  long  distance. 
Crouched  under  the  protection  of  this 
old  giant,  just  at  the  top  of  the  slop- 
ing green  bank  by  the  roadside,  was 
a  miserable  stone  hovel,  floored  even 
with  the  ground,  and  with  a  cellar  to 
which  admission  was  gained  in  front 
by  a  passage  cut  into  the  bank.     As 


far  back  as  any  local  memory  ex- 
tends, this  hut  had  been  occupied, 
when  occupied  at  all,  by  one  or  an- 
other disreputable  negro  family  ;  but 
there  was  an  obscure  tradition  that 
the  spot  had  been  the  site  of  the  wig- 
wam of  the  sachem  who  ruled  the 
neighborhood  almost  two  hundred 
and  fifty  years  before,  at  the  first 
coming  of  the  white  man  ;  and  whose 
7iame  is  variously  spelled  in  the  an- 
cient records  of  the  colony,  but  most 
frequently  Sunckquasson  or  Sequas- 
sen.  In  this  dilapidated  edifice 
some  of  my  friends  and  I  used  last 
summer  to  pass  an  afternoon  ;  some- 
times in  trifling  amusements,  some- 
times in  conversation,  often  very 
serious  and  earnest.  We  had  added 
nothing  to  the  accommodations  of  the 
old  hovel  except  a  few  logs  and 
blocks,  which  served  us  as  seats,  and 
the  fantastic  decoration  of  a  human 
skull,  which  one  of  us,  an  admirer  of 
Edgar  A.  Poe,  had  nailed  up  on 
the  low,  horizontal  branch  which 
stretched  along  above  the  hut,  in  a 
sort  of  imitation  of  that  which  plays 
so  important  a  part  in  the  story  of 
'  The  Gold  Bug.' 

"  On  one  particular  afternoon,  a 
warm  and  pleasant  summer  day,  we 
had  gone  out  to  the  hut,  and  as  the 
preference  of  the  hour  was  for  con- 
versation, we  took  nothing  for  diver- 
sion or  refreshment  except  a  wine 
quart  of  claret,  iced. 

"  We  sat  a  long  time,  first  on  the 
green  bank  outside,  and  then  within 
the  single  little  room  of  the  old  hut, 
pleasantly  discoursing  upon  a  great 
variety  of  subjects.  All  the  latter 
half  of  the  summer  afternoon  glided 
rapidly  away  ;  the  fleeting  July  twi- 
light crept  swiftly  upon  us,  and  deep- 
ened rapidly  into  the  shadowing  dark- 
ness of  early,  moonless  nightfall. 

"  There  was  a  small  projection  from 


166 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


the  back  of  the  cottage,  within  which 
a  door  opened  upon  a  stairway  to  the 
cellar.  I  sat  upon  that  side  of  our 
little  circle  farthest  from  this  door, 
and  of  course  facing  it.  While  we 
still  talked,  and  the  shadows  grew 
deeper  and  deeper,  I  happened  to  be 
looking  directly  at  the  cellar  door. 
As  I  was  doing  so,  it  deliberately 
opened,  and  an  Indian  coming  forth 
from  it,  stepped  forward  to  one  side 
of  the  little  room,  and  halting,  gazed 
steadfastly  down  upon  us,  as  we  sat 
on  our  blocks  on  the  floor.  He  was 
of  magnificent  proportions  ;  almost 
colossal  in  stature,  broad-shouldered, 
deep-chested,  straight  as  a  pine-tree, 
and  of  singularly  stately  carriage. 
As  he  looked  down  upon  us,  gravely 
and  in  silence,  though  we  all  looked 
at  him,  we  seemed  to  have  no  power 
to  stir  ;  and  I  clearly  recollect  how  a 
warning  against  doing  so  seemed  to 
take  a  tangible  shape  of  oddly  chai'- 
acterized  distinctness  before  my  mind. 
It  was  as  if  I  saw  a  printed  line 
worded  and  lettered  thus  :  '  There 
will  be  a  prejudice  against  unneces- 
sary movement ' ;  and  I  found  the 
unintelligibleness  of  this  monition  ac- 
companied by  terrors  that  were  vague 
but  profound,  at  what  might  be  the 
consequences  of  disobeying  it.  But 
there  was  something  much  more 
frightful.  As  the  lineaments  of  the 
Indian's  swarthy  face  became  dis- 
tinct before  me,  I  saw  plainly  that 
though  all  the  rest  of  the  face  wore 
the  appearance  of  perfect  health, 
the  eyes  were  dead,  and  the  flesh 
about  them  was  dead ;  and  though 
they  seemed  to  look  at  us,  there  was 
something  indescribably  horrible  in 
their  livid  shrunken  look,  and  the 
fixed  unmoving  stare  from  under  their 
purplish  half-shut  lids. 

"  After  standing  a  few  moments 
in  utter  silence,  the  Indian  turned, 


silently  retraced  his  footsteps,  and, 
bowing  his  haught}-  head,  disappeared 
down  the  stairwa}-.  We  sat  a  few 
moments  in  the  same  motionless  ter- 
rified silence.  Then  one  of  my  com- 
panions, moving  as  if  in  a  dream  and 
apparent^  unconscious  of  the  pres- 
ence of  any  one  else,  slowly  arose, 
stepped  silently  to  the  door  of  the 
cellar,  and  deliberately  went  down 
out  of  sight.  In  a  few  moments  more 
another  in  like  manner  arose,  and 
with  the  same  strange  appearance  of 
unconsciousness  likewise  disappeared 
in  the  cellar.  After  another  short 
pause,  the  third  did  the  same.  I  sat 
a  moment  alone,  and  found  myself 
slowfv  rising  to  follow  their  example, 
when  the  door  was  flung  violently 
back,  and  Sam  H.,  who  had  gone 
down  last,  sprang  back  into  the  room, 
shaking  and  stumbling  with  terror, 
his  face  white  and  his  eyes  almost  idi- 
otic in  his  fright.  The  sight  of  this 
natural  human  action  broke  the  spell 
which  had  been  holding  me.  '  For 
God's  sake,  Sam,'  I  cried,  recovering 
my  speech  for  the  first  time,  '  let 's 
get  out  of  this  ! '  And.  we  rushed 
headlong  out  of  the  door.  As  we 
passed  the  outer  entrance  to  the  cel- 
lar, I  summoned  courage  to  approach 
it  and  look  within  ;  but  all  was  dark, 
and  its  more  distant  portion  was  shut 
out  of  sight  by  a  partition. 

"  Not  daring  to  explore  further,  we 
ran  homewards.  As  we  went,  my 
companion  informed  me  that  he  had 
descended  the  cellar  stairs  and  there 
saw  our  two  friends  seated  at  what 
seemed  to  be  a  table,  on  which  was 
something  that  glimmered,  while  be- 
hind it  stood  the  Indian,  his  head 
crushed  up  among  the  timbers  of  the 
floor,  and  as  it  were  preaching  to 
them,  with  fluent  words  and  many 
gestures." 

Adrian  stopped.     He  had  told  the 


Scrope;    or,  The  Lost  Library. 


167 


fantastic  story  with  so  much  local 
detail,  with  such  gravity  and  inten- 
sity, that  all  the  women  looked  prop- 
erly frightened. 

'•  But  is  that  all?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Maginn  ;  "  how  horrid  !  3*011  look  as 
scared  as  any  of  us." 

Adrian  shook  his  head,  and  with 
entire  sincerity  said, — 

"  It  was  horrible  —  horrible —  and 
it  is  because  it  was  so  frightfully  true 
that  you  can't  help  feeling  it.  When 
I  woke  up  —  " 

There  was  a  general  cry  of  relief ; 
and  the  saucy  girl  who  had  defied  the 
scalping  knife,  at  once  testified  that 
she  had  known  it  was  a  dream  all  the 
time. 

'-  But  wait,"  persisted  Adrian ; 
—  "  when  I  woke  up,  so  perfectly  im- 
pressed was  1  with  the  reality  of  it, 
that  I  Jcneio  that  Indian  was  stand- 
ing at  the  bedside  behind  me  in  the 
dark,  looking  down  at  me  with  those 
dead  livid  eyes,  and  it  was  minutes 
before  I  could  summon  up  courage  to 
pull  off  the  two  poultices  I  had  to 
keep  on  my  eyes  at  that  time,  so  that 
I  could  look." 

"  Ah,"  said  Dr.  Veroil,  "  very 
good  ;  very  well  told  too  ;  those  poul- 
tices were  the  dead  eyes,  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  dream  crystallized  round 
them." 

"  Yes,"  said  Adria. 

But  Civille,  who  had  been  gazing 
with  her  whole  soul  at  the  narrator, 
said  softly,  as  if  to  herself,  "  I  think 
the  old  chief  is  there  !  " 

Before  Dr.  Veroil  had  time  for  the 
joking  reply  which  he  seemed  about 
to  make  to  this  observation,  one  of 
Mrs.  Button's  progresses  broke  up 
the  little  set,  and  the  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen were  sent  circulating  on 
rounds  of  one  and  another  duty. 
Other  similar  gatherings,  other  chats 
and  conversations   followed ;    some 


serious,  around  good  old  Doctor 
Toomston  and  some  of  the  elders  ; 
some  comical,  wherever  there  might 
be  Dr.  Veroil  with  his  satirical  sen- 
sible good  nature,  or  Mrs.  Hetty 
Maginn  with  her  vehement  blunt 
joviality, or  even  Mr.  William  Button, 
who  had  a  decided  taste  for  whatever 
of  the  funny  sort  he  could  understand. 
At  the  proper  time  came  supper,  and 
in  the  laughing  and  chatting  proces- 
sion down  to  the  dining-room,  there 
went  just  together,  as  it  happened, 
these  couples  :  first,  Mr.  Bird  and 
Civille  ;  next,  Mr.  Scrope  and  Miss 
Button ;  and  behind  them,  Adrian 
and  Mrs.  Maginn. 

"Do  look  at  those  shoulder-blades" 
said  Mrs.  Hett}-,  softly,  to  Adrian, 
pointing  to  the  articles  in  question, 
very  visible  over  Miss  Button's  dress, 
—  the  good  lady  knew  nothing  of 
any  existing  kinship  or  proposed 
affinity  between  her  theme  and  her 
escort, — it  must  have  been  with  ref- 
erence to  the  funny  mcuaproposities 
arising  from  such  ignorances  that  the 
poet's  wise  observation  came,  about 
ignorance  being  bliss,  — "  do  look  at 
those  shoulder-blades !  You  could 
drop  a  bullet  through  there  to  the  floor 
and  she  'd  never  know  it !  I  believe 
they  put  dried  mutton-bones  in  a 
parchment  bag  nowadays,  and  call 
it  a  girl !  " 

Adrian,  who  could  not  consistently 
laugh,  did  the  best  thing  he  could, 
with  another  compliment, — 

"  Perhaps  if  she  lives  to  be  as  use- 
ful a  reformer  and  as  delightful  a 
companion  as  you,  Mrs.  Maginn,  she 
will  become  as  plump." 

"  Why,  what  nice  compliments 
you  make,"  said  the  good  lady  ;  "  it 
would  be  ravishing  if  one  could  be- 
lieve one  single  word  of  it !  " 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  stood  one 
of  the  servants,   waiting  to  go  up. 


168 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


Adrian,  looking  carelessly  clown  at 
her,  saw  that  it  was  the  same  with 
whom  he  thought  Mr.  Bird  was  ex- 
changing confidences  in  the  hall,  and 
at  the  same  moment  he  also  perceived 
with  surprise  that  it  was  the  same 
blustering,  scolding  Irishwoman  who 
had  gone  off  in  such  a  fury  from  Mr. 
Van  Braam's  on  the  night  when  he  had 
escorted  Civille  home.  At  the  same 
moment  he  saw  Civille  recognize  her 
too,  and  heard  her  sa}%  smilingly,  — 

"  Wiry,  Katy,  is  it  you?  I  did  not 
know  you  were  here." 

"  Yis  'm,"  said  the  girl,  with  that 
very  same  venomous,  bitter,  quick  ut- 
terance, —  and  she  added,  "  if  ye  've 
missed  anything  I  could  account  to 
yez  for  it." 

"  I  have  not  missed  anything, 
thank  }Tou,  Katy,"  said  Civille,  in  her 
sweet,  quiet  voice,  and  passed  on, 
completing  some  half-laughing  re- 
mark that  she  had  been  making  to 
Bird.  Ann  Button,  Adrian  thought, 
started.  She  certainly  looked  sharply 
at  the  girl.  "  What  do  you  mean  by 
that?"  she  demanded. 

"  And  this  young  gintleman  can 
tell  ye  that  he  set  out  to. search  me 
bundle,"  said  Katy,  pointing  to  Ad- 
rian, and  all  in  a  quiver  at  the  rec- 
ollection of  the  outrage.  Adrian 
briefly  explained  to  Ann  how  oddly 
the  girl  had  acted  on  the  evening  in 
question  ;  and  they  went  forward  into 
the  supper-room,  where  abundant  and 
luxurious  refreshments  were  await- 
ing their  doom,  —  and  received  it. 

In  due  time,  the}-  all  came  back 
to  the  parlor  ;  and  now  there  was 
a  renewed  demand  for  music ;  and 
various  instrumental  and  vocal  pieces 
were  given,  some  ill  and  some  well. 
Thus,  one  was  a  spirited  nautical 
song,  by  a  gentleman  who  articu- 
lated a  little  too  distinctly  as  he  gave 
one  and  another  successive  note  to 


the  same  syllable,  producing  the  fol- 
lowing pleasing  effect :  — 

"Aha,  my  bo-haw-haw-hoys, 
These  are  the  jaw-haw-hoys 
Of  the  no-ho-ho-bul  and  the  bray-hay-have, 
Who  love  a  life-fife-fife 
Of  toil  aud  strife-fife-fife, 
And  a  ho-ho  home  on  the  bow-wow-wound- 
ing wave." 

After  a  time,  Adrian  was  called 
upon,  and  complied  very  readily,  like 
a  man  of  sense  who  is  willing  to  do 
his  best.  For  a  moment  or  two,  he 
could  not  collect  his  wits  ;  and  while 
the  music  was  going  on,  and  exciting 
him,  as  music  alwa3*s  did,  he  had 
3'et  suffered  his  thoughts  to  fall  back 
from  their  busy  purposeful  employ- 
ment about  the  people  around  him, 
and  although  he  promptly  arose  and 
went  to  the  piano,  his  mind  as  he  sat 
down  was  full  of  trouble ;  all  the 
pains  and  doubts  that  he  had  thrust 
one  side  at  entering  the  parlors, 
thronged  back,  more  urgent  than  ever 
for  having  been  shut  out;  and  in 
spite  of  the  trifling  nature  of  the  cir- 
cumstances, and  the  perfect  compe- 
tence of  the  explanation  which  he 
had  already  given  to  himself,  that 
momentary  pause  on  the  stairway, 
and  the  strange  impertinence  of  the 
Irish  woman  at  the  stair-foot,  plagued 
him  ;  for  by  one  of  those  associations 
which  make  themselves  for  us,  the 
parcel  of  laces  from  Jenks  &  Train- 
or's,  and  the  something  which  the 
girl  implied  that  Civille  might  have 
missed,  locked  themselves  together 
in  his  mind. 

When,  therefore,  he  took  his  place 
at  the  piano,  he  touched  a  few  chords 
almost  without  knowing  what  he  was 
about.  The  rich,  strong  sound  of  the 
noble  grand  piano  in  some  measure 
awoke  him  ;  but  yet  no  words,  no  air, 
would  take  form  in  his  recollection. 

"  Do  I  know  any  songs?  "  he  said, 
half  unconsciously. 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


169 


"  Yes,"  said  Scrope,  who  was  near 
by.  "  Give  us  '  The  Child's  Three 
Wishes'  again." 

"  Give  us  '  Sparkling  and  Bright,' " 
said  Doctor  Toomston. 

"  That  would  be  an  anacreonisrn," 
punned  Doctor  Veroil. 

"  O,  I  did  n't  mean  the  rum  ver- 
sion," said  Doctor  Toomston,  rather 
indignantly. 


But  Adrian  still  tried  in  vain  to 
remember,  until  he  began  to  feel 
ridiculous,  and  with  a  sudden  effort, 
he  threw  off  all  his  preoccupation. 
At  the  moment  there  came  into  bis 
mind  a  song  that  he  remembered  ; 
and  without  waiting  to  choose,  he 
struck  at  once  into  a  prelude  of 
strong,  full,  reverberating  chords. 

"  I  '11  give  you,"  he  said,  "  the  — 


BEDOUIN  LOVE-SONG. 


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170  Scrope;   or.  The  Lost  Library. 


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ill 


The  company  had  excited  him. 
The  music,  mediocre  as  some  of  it 
was,  had  excited  him  still  more.  The 
air  to  which  he  now  sang,  monotonous, 
if  not  heavy,  has  yet  a  recurring, 
persistent  chant  character  that  in 
some  sense  throbs  along  with  the 
passionateness  of  the  words  ;  and  the 
pitch  was  just  right  for  his  mellow 
and  sympathetic  barytone  voice.  Ci- 
ville  was  leaning  upon  the  instru- 
ment, and  without  intending  it,  Ad- 
rian looked  at  her  as  he  sang  — 

"I  love  but  thee!   I  love  but  thee — " 

And  as  he  did  so,  the  intense  passion 
of  the  verses  seized  him,  and  he  was 
gone  ;  he  sang  the  rest  of  the  wild, 
lawless  song  to  her,  to  her  only.  She 
perceptibly  trembled  when  he  first 
looked  ;  then  cast  down  her  eyes  and 
stood  silent,  without  looking  up  at 
him  again.  If  he  had  known  what 
he  was  about,  he  would  assuredl}'  not 
have  sung  it.  He  felt  before  he  had 
sung  the  first  stanza  through,  as  if 
every  one  in  the  room  must  see  ex- 
actly what  he  was —  in  spite  of  him- 
self—  doing;  making  an  avowal  of 
uncontrollable,  passionate  love  to  one 
woman,  in  the  home  and  under  the 
veiy  e3Tes  of  another  woman,  to  whom 
he  had  promised  marriage. 

But  he  sang  it  through,  although 
with  no  very  distinct  consciousness 
of  his  manner  of  execution.  He  arose 
without  a  word,  —  there  was  a  silence 
as  dead  as  that  of  his  Indian  ghost, 


—  and  without  looking  up  he  moved 
off  in  a  kind  of  dream,  and  sat  down 
in  the  first  chair  he  came  to.  In  a 
few  moments  the  applause  and  com- 
pliments began.  Several  of  the  la- 
dies asked  him  where  he  got  the 
music.  He  answered  that  he  did  not 
remember  exactly,  — he  believed  he 
had  it  at  home  somewhere.  But 
Civille,  who  was  passing  behind  him, 
moved  perhaps  by  an  impulse  as  un- 
conscious as  his  own,  bent  down  for 
a  moment  and  said  softly,  so  that 
nobody  else  could  hear,  — 
"  I  know  —  you  made  it !  " 
It  is  possible  that  a  few  of  the 
more  enthusiastic  votaries  of  pleas- 
ure—  unblamable  as  the  pleasure 
must  have  been,  since  neither  cards 
nor  wine  nor  even  dancing  were  al- 
lowed—  might  have  stayed  a  little 
too  late  ;  but  there  came  an  incident 
to  disperse  even  the  chatty  familiars 
of  the  house  who  were  last  to  go. 
These,  mostly  young  friends  of  Miss 
Button's,  including  also  Doctor  Ver- 
oil  and  one  or  two  others  of  the  more 
youthful  ciders,  had  fallen  into  a 
reminiscent  vein  ;  also  Miss  Button, 
Civille,  and  one  or  two  more  who  had, 
as  it  appeared  in  time  past,  attended 
the  same  school  with  them.  One  and 
another  of  their  schoolmates,  it  quick- 
ly appeared,  were  married  ;  one  and 
another  had  disappeared.  Disappear- 
ing is  very  common  in  our  American 
city  life,  where  societ}7  is  an  encamp- 
ment rather  than  an  establishment, 


17: 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


and  where  riches  gather  like  one  of 
those  volcanic  islands  that  grow  up 
from  under  the  sea  in  one  night,  and 
disappear  in  another,  yet  hot  with 
the  fury  of  their  accumulation. 

"Where  is  that  lovely  fair-com- 
plexioned  Mary  Gray?"  asked  Civille 
at  last ;  "  don't  you  remember  how 
she  used  to  make  the  awfullest  reci- 
tations, and  she  was  so  sweet  and 
loving  that  even  old  Miss  Piquette, 
the  French  teacher,  could  not  find 
fault  with  her  ?  She  said  she  alwa3rs 
hated  books  ;  but  O,  what  perfectly 
splendid  embroidery  she  used  to  do  ! 
1  wonder  what  became  of  her  ?  " 

"  I  believe  her  father  failed  and 
died,  and  her  mother,  I  think,  was 
dead  before.  I  don't  know  where  she 
went  to,  I  'm  sure,"  said  Miss  Button. 
"  Do  you,  mother?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Button,  "  I  don't." 

"  Who 's  that  ? "  asked  Bill  Button, 
coming  up  to  Adrian's  side. 

It  was  Doctor  Veroil  who  an- 
swered, with  a  significant  tone  and 
manner,  looking  keenly  first  at  Ann, 
and  then  at  her  brother  :  — 

"  She  died  Sunday  morning,  Miss 
Button.  Mary  Gray,  Mr.  William 
Button." 

Ann  turned  pale,  for  the  meaning 
tone  in  which  the  physician  spoke  in- 
formed her  plainly  enough  what  he 
meant,  and  so  it  did  her  mother.  But 
neither  of  them  asked  sa\y  questions. 
William,  however,  started  violently, 
and  cauo'ht  hold  of  Adrian's  arm. 


"  Hold  me  up,  will  you?  "  he  said, 
"  I  'in  faint."  And  before  Adrian  and 
the  doctor,  both  of  whom  instantly 
caught  hold  of  him,  could  carry  him 
off,  he  sank  quietly  down  on  the  car- 
pet, his  limbs  shaking,  his  face  injec- 
ted with  blood,  his  eyes  turned  and 
set  in  his  head  :  a  frightful  spectacle 
enough. 

"  Get  awajT,  all  you  visitors  !  "  said 
Veroil,  peremptorily.  "This  is  not 
dangerous  ;  he  will  come  out  of  it ; 
but  do  you  all  go  home." 

Nobody  tarried  to  dispute  so  very 
proper  an  order,  except  Adrian,  who 
waited  to  see  if  he  could  be  of 
use. 

"  It 's  epilepsy,"  said  Veroil,  after 
a  moment ;  "  a  slight  attack  ;  he  will 
come  out  of  it  in  a  few  minutes.  Give 
me  some  ice-water.  Has  he  been  so 
before  ?  " 

Neither  of  his  parents  nor  his  sis- 
ter had  ever  seen  anything  of  the 
kind.  Adrian  told  the  doctor,  aside 
and  in  few  words,  of  the  attack  in  the 
billiard  saloon. 

"  Hm,  —  must  be  attended  to," 
was  the  only  reply,  and  the  doctor 
applied  himself  to  the  usual  simple 
palliatives,  dismissing  Adrian  about 
as  brusqueby  as  he  had  the  rest* 

So  the  young  man  went  away,  the 
circumstances  abridging  all  leave- 
takings.  As  for  Civille,  her  father, 
who  had  not  been  present  at  the 
party,  had  called  to  escort  her 
home. 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


173 


PART 
CHAPTER  XXIV. 

There  are  people  who  receive  a 
knowledge  of  men's  states  of  mind 
and  of  the  complexion  of  their  own 
circumstances  Irv  a  method  like  the 
ehemico-mechanical  one  called  endos- 
mosis, —  a  quiet,  unconscious  trans- 
piration of  impressions  through  phys- 
ical mediums  into  the  mind.  They 
Jin  d  they  know  what  somebody  wishes, 
or  how  things  are  going,  but  very 
likely  they  could  not  tell  how  they 
came  to  know.  Such  people  will 
sometimes  sit  for  a  whole  evening 
in  company  apparently  without  any 
consciousness  of  what  is  done  or 
said  around  them. 

Perhaps  they  even  do  not  answer 
questions,  nor  hear  what  is  said  di- 
rectly to  them.  Afterwards  they  can 
tell  who  was  present,  what  was  clone, 
what  was  said  ;  though  at  the  time 
they  could  not  tell,  and  did  really 
not  know. 

Adrian,  who  possessed  a  pretty 
good  share  of  this  faculty  of  '*  un- 
conscious cerebration,"  as  Prof  Car- 
penter calls  it,  had  also  a  pretty 
good  share  of  the  more  ordinary 
faculty  of  conscious  cerebration  He 
reflected  a  good  deal,  before  the  time 
of  his  interview  with  Mr.  Button  on 
Wednesda}-  morning,  upon  the  whole 
situation  of  his  affairs,  and  he  de- 
cided that  he  would  accept  Mr.  But- 
ton's offer  ;  proceeding  somewhat  as 
follows  :  — 

He  felt  —  and  with  a  pleasurable 
glow  of  honest  satisfaction  —  that  he 
was  at  present  considered  somebody. 
He  remembered  the  curiously  delight- 
ful sense  of  controlling  men,  which 
had   moved  him  while   proving  his 


IX. 

case  and  convincing  the  assembly,  in 
his  little  argument  before  the  Scrope 
Association ;  the  intense  watchful- 
ness of  the  faces  to  which  he  spoke  ; 
the  little  thrills  of  surprise,  convic- 
tion, delight,  which  had  moved  across 
the  audience  like  the  small  waves 
upon  a  field  of  grain  before  a  light 
breeze,  as  he  developed  point  after 
point  in  his  closing  summary  ;  the 
genuine  enthusiasm  that  had  re- 
sponded at  the  close,  —  in  words  and 
voices,  and  in  the  far  more  affecting 
and  conclusive  form  of  lawful  money. 
He  now  remembered  the  conscious- 
ness which,  he  felt,  although  at  the 
time  he  had  not  clearly  apprehend- 
ed it,  had  surrounded  him  during 
the  evening  of  the  party  at  Mr.  But- 
ton's, with  an  atmosphere  stimulating 
like  nitrous  oxide,  —  the  conscious- 
ness that  he  was  an  object  of  atten- 
tion and  approving  interest.  u  Yes," 
he  said  to  himself,  —  "  that  was  it ! 
It 's  agreeable,  no  doubt,  but  —  now, 
for  instance,  if  it  had  n't  been  for  that 
champagny  kind  of  excitement  I 
shouldn't  have  executed  an  Indian 
yell  in  mixed  society,  even  to  in- 
struct a  German  Professor  !  I  wish  I 
had  n't !"  And  perhaps  the  annoy- 
ance at  a  breach  of  etiquette  com- 
mitted from  an  over-ready  willing- 
ness to  do  as  he  was  asked,  and  a 
real  readiness  to  give  information, 
neutralized  any  pleasure  that  came 
from  having  been  the  hero  of  the 
occasion. 

More  direct  and  practical  than 
this  generalizing  self-gratulation,  was 
Adrian's  consciousness  of  having 
greatly  risen  in  the  estimation  of  the 
great  capitalist,  Mr.  Button  himself. 


UftlVEf 


£Al  u 


174 


Scrope;    or,   The   Lost  Library. 


It  was  perfectly  without  intention 
that  he  had  done  so,  too.  Button,  not 
appreciating  any  worth  except  the 
worth  of  doing,  had  been  successive- 
ly surprised,  pleased,  and  convinced, 
as  Adrian  could  not  but  know,  by  one 
and  another  proof  in  practical  and 
practicable  suggestions,  beginning 
with  a  simple  theory  of  penmanship, 
and  culminating  in  the  occurrences  of 
the  Association  meeting.  No  won- 
der. In  a  young  man  like  Adrian  t 
there  is  a  fund  of  undeveloped  power 
which  neither  others  nor  the  possessor 
knows  of,  nor  can  know,  until  a  time 
comes  to  use  it.  Then  it  rises  and 
acts  as  it  were  of  itself.  In  cases 
where  this  power  is  great  enough  in 
quantity  and  high  enough  in  quality, 
its  spiritual  elevation,  its  apparently 
(not really)  superhuman  promptness, 
adequateness,  inexhaustible  force  and 
efficiency,  entitle  it  to  the  name  in 
such  cases  conferred.  It  is  Genius. 
So  far  as  Adrian's  action  had  partaken 
of  this  quality, —  not  very  far,  though 
unquestionabl}'  to  some  extent.  —  the 
action  had  produced  its  legitimate 
results  ;  success  in  the  object  sought, 
and  the  admiring  acquiescence  of 
others  in  the  means  used. 

This  defining,  however,  was  no  part 
of  Adrian's  reflections  at  the  moment ; 
he  was  simply  "orienting  himself," 
—  getting  his  bearings  and  deciding 
his  course.  He  may  be  considered 
as  a  point  acted  on  by  several  differ- 
ent impulses  ;  in  fact,  as  the  resisting 
point  in  a  problem  in  the  resolution 
of  forces.  The  forces  acting  were 
four,  to  wit  :  — 

1.  Business  ;  being  the  proposition 
which  he  knew  perfectly  well  Mr. 
Button  was  going  that  morning  to 
make  him 

2.  Study  ;  the  lines  of  acquisition 
of  knowledge  and  aesthetic  culture 
towards  which  his  own  mental  nature 


impelled  him,  but  which  he  must  def- 
initely resign  if  he  accepted  Mr. 
Button's  offers. 

3 .  Betrothal :  the  fulfilment  of  his 
engagement  with  Ann  Button,  which 
would  weld  him  with  irrevocable  one- 
ness, even  more  than  a  mere  business 
contract,  into  the  circle  of  life  where 
revolved  the  Button  family  and  Dr. 
Toomston's  church  ;  —  for  this  last, 
oddly  enough,  the  young  man  found 
himself  considering  as  a  kind  of  ap- 
pendix to  the  Button  interest ;  and 
having  no  great  reverence  for  institu- 
tions and  forms  merely  as  such,  Ad- 
rian caught  himself  asking,  like  the 
funny  man  in  the  play,  whether  the 
tail  wagged  the  dos;,  or  the  dog  the 
tail? 

4.  There  was  another  influence, 
however,  the  newest  of  all,  and,  if 
not  the  strongest  of  all,  yet  the  deci- 
sive one  at  this  time  in  bringing  Ad- 
rian's mind  to  determine  upon  the 
consent  with  which  he  resolved  to 
meet  Mr.  Button's  offers.  And  yet 
it  was  the  least  distinct  of  all ;  per- 
haps even  it  would  be  most  correct 
to  call  it  an  apprehension  that  there 
was  such  an  influence  For,  what- 
ever it  really  was,  Adrian  did  not 
name  it  even  in  his  silent  communion 
with  himself;  he  had  not  expressly 
named  it,  even  in  that  unresisted  and 
sudden  revelation  of  last  evening. 
He  felt  that  it  was  not  best  nor  safe 
to  name  it  nor  to  admit  its  presence. 
He  onby  asked  whether  it  was  possi- 
ble that  it  was  present.  He  said,  Is 
it  here?  and  added  straightway  with- 
out waiting  even  to  say  No,  or  Yes, 
—  If  it  is  it  must  be  put  out;  so 
that  if  he  recognized  it  even  as  pos- 
sibl}-  present,  it  was  only  to  flee  from 
before  it.  There  was  nothing  to  make 
him  believe  that  the  power  in  ques- 
tion was  really  a  living  force  tending 
to  draw  him  any  whither  —  at  least, 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


175 


nothing  distinct.  One  kiss,  one  song, 
one  look,  one  whisper.  Yet  when- 
ever he  remembered  either  of  these, 
—  and  since  last  evening,  —  as  he 
now  recognized  with  a  strange  feeling 
of  spiritual  happiness  which  wavered 
moment  by  moment  into  something 
like  fear  and  pain  over  wrong-doing, 
with  a  swift  shimmer  like  the  colors 
on  a  changeable  silk,  —  since  last 
evening  he  knew  all  of  a  sudden  that 
for  da}-s  he  had  lived  in  one  unbroken 
dream  upon  one  or  all  of  them,  —  yet 
whenever  he  remembered  articulately 
either  one,  his  heart  beat ;  he  felt  his 
cheeks  flush  ;  and  at  once,  resolute 
to  keep  faith,  he  would  say,  No ! 
and  would  set  himself  anew  to  the 
steady  contemplation  of  what  he  had 
promised,  and  of  the  3-oke  to  which 
he  proposed  to  bow  himself,  as  a 
means  of  effectual  self-constraint,  to 
observe  that  promise.  And  as  in 
dreams  one  is  forever  beginning  some- 
thing that  will  not  end,  or  avoiding 
some  phantom  that  incessantlv  rises 
again,  so  in  this  dream,  Adrian,  shut- 
ting and  shutting  the  door  to  a  para- 
dise, and  in  resolved  self-denying 
honor  steadfastly  turning  away,  for- 
ever found  himself  with  the  same 
door  opening  before  his  face,  the 
lovely  air  of  an  unknown  heaven 
breathing  forth  upon  him  through  the 
portal,  his  heart  and  his  senses  ac- 
knowledging the  divine  abode,  and 
his  foot  unconsciously  lifted  to  the 
threshold. 

For,  sweet  as  the  invitation  was, 
yet  the  strongest  impulses  of  the 
young  man — and  noble  ones  they 
were,  no  doubt  —  called  him  to  re- 
fuse ;  a  generosity  even  unreasona- 
ble ;  an  untried  instinct  of  self-deni- 
al ;  an  impulse  even  beyond  the  line 
of  justice,  to  surrender  not  rnerety 
his  rights,  but  his  wishes,  for  the  sake 
of  seeing  others  happy  in  possessing 


their  wishes  ;  a  conscientiousness  not 
yet  trained  to  the  wise  recollection 
that  one's  self  may  no  more  be 
wronged  than  one's  fellow  —  all  these 
ruled  him.  Happier  than  the  strong 
god  of  the  old  fable,  he  was  ruled  by 
several  virtues  against  one  happiness, 
and  that  an  unknown  one.  No  won- 
der that  that  majority  carried  him 

So  he  hasted  down  to  Mr.  But- 
ton's office  as  fast  as  he  could.  He 
did  not  know  why  he  went  so  fast ; 
it  was  to  get  the  business  over  and 
done  with,  and  lock  that  door.  On 
arriving,  he  found  Doctor  Toomston 
seated  in  consultation  Avith  the  pub- 
lisher, in  the  private  office.  Mr. 
Button,  as  Adrian  entered,  looked  at 
his  watch. 

"  Ten  minutes  ahead  of  time,  ha}'? 
Wal,  that 's  better  'n  ten  minutes  be- 
hind," he  observed,  not  ill-naturedly, 
adding,  in  his  half-sarcastic  way, 
"  '  Go  not  before  ye  be  sent,'  is  a 
good  rule  in  business  as  well  as  in 
Scripture  ;  ain't  it,  Doctor  ? " 

"  I  can't  refer  you  to  that  text," 
said  the  doctor,  with  a  smile,  —  "  it 's 
not  in  my  Cruden,  Mr.  Button." 

"  Wal,  it 's  good  sense  all  the 
same.  But  I  'm  glad  to  see  ye,  Ad- 
rian ;  and  now  seddown  and  look 
over  this  memorandum  for  a. minute, 
while  I  finish  with  the  doctor."  And 
giving  Adrian  a  stout  filed  document, 
he  pointed  to  a  seat,  and  resumed 
his  consultation  with  the  clergyman. 
Adrian,  unfolding  the  paper,  found 
it  headed,  "  Button  Theological 
Seminary";  and  the  surprise  with 
which  he  read  this  noble  title  was  not 
diminished  when  he  beheld,  as  he 
read,  a  plan,  worked  out  in  consid- 
erable detail,  for  a  complete  institu- 
tion. It  was  provided  with  a  "  form 
of  sound  words,"  or  profession  of 
faith,  of  the  strictest  old-fashioned 
orthodoxy    and    compactest    verbal 


Scrope; 


or, 


The   Lost   Library. 


architecture,  to  be  signed  by  all  the 
professors  forever  ;  a  set  of  professor- 
ships, and  a  well-digested  course  of 
study,  were  set  forth  ;  even  the  blank 
"  Form  of  a  Bequest  "  was  added  at 
the  end,  after  the  pleasing  model  of 
the  catalogue  of  Rutgers  College  in 
New  Jersey,  with  five  different  alter-. 
natives,  adapted  to  the  more  general 
or  more  special  ways  in  which  any 
moribund  might  probably  prefer  to 
have  the  institution  profit  by  his  de- 
cease, and  as  if  to  be  distributed  to 
all  wealthy  persons  intending  death. 
He  had  read  it  carefully  through,  and 
sat  considering,  when  the  capitalist 
said,  suddenly,  — 

"•  Wal,  Adrian, —  have  ye  agreed 
upon  a  verdict?'' 

••Why,"  said  the  young  man,  "I 
see  what  there  is  there." 

••  Seems  to  me  you  speak  as  if  you 
was  thinkin  of  something  that  is  n't 
there  ?  " 

••  I  was  noticing  the  assortment  of 
Theologies."  said  Adrian,  "  and  I  did 
think  of  a  couple  of  chairs  that  I 
should  have  added  to  the  list,  even 
if  I  had  dropped  two  to  make  room 
for  them." 

••  Indeed,  young  man?  "  said  Doc- 
tor Toomston,  mounting  rapidly  into 
the  sacred  desk  ;  for  the  good  old  di- 
vine had.  even  from  his  one  or  two 
brief  interviews  with  Adrian,  become 
imbued  with  a  deep  distrust  of  his 
character  and  influence.  If  he  could 
have  prevented  it.  Mr.  Button  would 
not  have  called  this  unregenerate 
youth  into  their  counsels  ;  and  he  was 
wroth  in  advance  with  whatever  ob- 
servation Adrian  should  make  ;  — 
'•  Indeed,  young  man?  It  will  be  a 
fine  thing  to  know  your  mind  respect- 
ing an  institution  which,  we  hope, 
will  be  a  school  of  the  prophets  long 
after  we  three  are  resting  beneath 
the  clods  of  the  valley." 


"  There,  Adrian,"  put  in  Mr.  But- 
ton, •'you  see  the  doctor  wants  to 
know  whether  Saul  also  is  among  the 
prophets  !  " 

Adrian,  however  abundant  in  sweet 
and  kindly  impulses,  was  by  no  means 
deficient  in  the  sterner  ones.  Indeed, 
if  his  tendency  to  benevolent  actions 
was  unregulated  and  excessive,  his 
tendency  to  resist  every  semblance 
of  injustice  or  imposition  was  cer- 
tainly not  less  so ;  nor  had  he  the 
self-control  of  experience,  that  waits 
to  consider  its  own  impulse  before 
even  revealing  what  it  is,  and  then 
waits  again  to  consider  how  and  when 
best  to  reveal  it.  He  had  also  already 
instinctively  felt  the  hostility  of  the 
clergyman's  sentiments,  and  he  heard 
it  now  rasp  anew  in  the  sharp  tones 
of  his  voice.  He  answered  there- 
fore, with  perceptible  emphasis : 
"  Doctor  Toomston,  I  believe  /shall 
not  'rest  beneath  the  clods  of  the 
valley' ;  I  hope  for  a  happier  future. 
I  think  the  habit  of  assuming  that  we 
are  in  the  grave,  is  a  heathen  habit 
of  thought  and  a  heathen  expression, 
and  not  Christian  at  all.  Now,  these 
professorships  are  :  Historical  Theol- 
ogv,  Exegetical  Theology  (and  Bib- 
lical Literature),  Ecclesiastical  The- 
ology, Systematic  Theology.  Polemic 
Theology,  Didactic  Theology,  and 
Pastoral  Theology.  All  I  have  to 
say  is,  that  even  if  I  had  to  omit  two 
of  those,  I  would  have  two  other 
professorships :  of  Practical  Theol- 
ogy, and  of  the  Christian  Religion." 

••  Well,  sir,"  said  the  divine,  as  he 
rose  and  took  his  hat,  ;'  whenever 
you  will  endow  those  chairs,  we  will 
try  to  reap  the  advantage  of  your 
great  wisdom  and  ripe  Christian  ex- 
perience." 

'•  Don't  go,  Doctor,"  said  Mr.  But- 
ton.—  "I'm  sorry  you  and  Adrian 
don't  hitch  horses  no  better ;  but  I 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


177 


want  ye  to  hear  what  I  'm  a-goin  to 
say  to  him,  for  it  may  have  a  bearin 
on  the  filter  of  the  church,  and  may 
bring  him  under  savin  influences, 
too.  You  hain't  no  right  to  miss  that 
opportunity." 

But  Doctor  Toomston  was  not  at 
present  in  a  disposition  to  seek  the 
enlistment  in  his  flock  of  so  black  a 
sheep.  He  would  rather  have  bought 
the  certainty  of  his  exclusion  with  a 
great  sum.  Nor  is  it  strange  that 
the  good  old  gentleman,  having  lived 
so  long  in  conditions  that  made  him 
a  kind  of  pope,  —  or,  should  the 
diminutive  of  affection  be  used,  a 
kind  of  poppet? —  was  intolerant  of 
what  seemed  to  him  such  presump- 
tion. And  having  at  the  same  time 
a  good  deal  of  sense  under  all  his 
habit  of  domineering  in  things  spiri- 
tual, he  was,  though  he  did  not 
know  it,  afraid.  Here  was  a  young 
fellow  who  said,  "  You  're  only  a  man. 
Come  down  out  of  your  sacred  desk, 
and  let's  see  if  you  are  right  or 
wrong."  And  he  was  in  the  right  to 
be  afraid.  It  would  have  been  an 
injustice  to  expect  him  to  appear 
well  on  an  arena  from  which  his 
whole  life  had  estranged  him.  And 
it  would  have  risked  a  terrible  low- 
ering of  himself  in  the  eyes  of  his 
powerful  parishioner.  So,  with  real 
wisdom,  and  a  sufficient  show  of 
dignity,  he  solemnly  withdrew,  plead- 
ing important  duties,  and  hoping  that 
all  Mr.  Button's  counsels  and  plans 
might  be  guided  and  overruled  if 
necessary,  for   the   best. 

"Overruled,  ha}'?"  commented 
the  publisher,  when  his  pastor  had 
departed ;  "I  reckon  I  know  jest 
what  I  want,  all  the  same.  Now  the 
old  man  thinks  he 's  sejested  the  hull 
o'  that  are  seminary  to  me,  and  it 
does  him  a  heap  o'  good  to  think  so. 
All  right !    I  could  n't  git  the  right 


influence  to  bear  if  he  did  n't.  Them 
parsons  do  hang  together  most  re- 
markable.—  Wal,  I'll  talk  to  ye 
another  time  about  the  Seminar}'. 
But  fust  of  all,  my  boy,  I  really  wish 
you  could  see  your  way  clear  to  jine 
the  church.  I  come  to  this  city 
more  'n  twenty-five  years  ago.  1 
had  n't  more  'n  looked  round,  before 
I  made  up  my  mind  that  that  very 
thing  was  the  best  one  thing  I  could 
do,  and  I  did  it.  And  it 's  been  a 
great  deal  o'  money  in- my  pocket 
every  year  since  that  time." 

The  perfect  good  faith  of  this  rec- 
ommendation of  what  may  be  called 
an  American  simony,  which  contem- 
plated not  exactly  buying  the  Holy 
Ghost,  or  even  church  preferment, 
with  money,  the  same  crime  turned 
end  for  end,  viz.  buying  money  with 
position  in  the  church,  —  the  evident 
and  entire  sincerity  of  this  advice 
startled  while  it  amused  Adrian.  But 
he  was  at  the  moment  in  a  comply- 
ing attitude  of  mind  towards  Mr. 
Button,  and  not  in  a  critical  one ; 
and  he  only  answered  that  he  would 
certainly  do  as  he  was  requested 
whenever  he  should  find  himself  a 
fit  person. 

This  particular  ceremonial  was 
however  not  what  the  publisher  had 
chiefly  at  heart ;  for  he  accepted  this 
answer  without  comment,  and  pro- 
ceeded at  once  to  the  main  business 
of  the  occasion. 

"  Now,  about  our  affairs.  You  see, 
there 's  more  in  you  than  I  thought. 
If  I'd  seen  as  much  of  ye  't  other  day 
as  I  have  now,  I  'd  a  made  ye  a  distink 
proposition  then,  instead  o'  talkin 
kinder  round  the  question.  I  liked 
the  way  you  did  up  that  meetin  Mon- 
day. You  put  the  case  fustrate.  I 
ain't  no  hand  at  chin-music,  but  I 
know  a  good  style  on 't. 

"  Wal ;  the  Ions;  and  the  short  on 't 


ITS 


Scrope;    or,  The  Lost   Library. 


is,  Adrian,  I  want  a  partner.  My 
business  here  's  enough  for  any  ordi- 
nary man,  and  within  a  year  or  two 
my  outside  concerns  have  got  so  that 
I  've  been  a-workin  double  tides  this 
two  or  three  years,  and  I  can  barely 
keep  up.  Then  I  've  got  some  views 
for  the  futer  —  but  they'll  keep  for 
the  present.  But  I  can't  go  on  this 
way  alone.  My  son  won't  be  no 
great  staff  to  my  old  age,  I  expect. 
Fur 's  I  c'n  see  he  "11  be  lucky  to  keep 
his  wits  No  use  thinkin  about  that. 
And  I  mast,  too ;  for  if  anything 
should  happen  to  me.  't  wdn't  do  for 
William  to  have  control  of  my  prop- 
erty. It 's  a  trustee  of  my  estate 
that  I  've  got  to  provide  for.  as  much 
as  a  partner  in  business." 

Thus  opening  at  once  the  main 
features  of  his  purpose,  Mr  Button 
proceeded  at  some  length  to  set  forth 
Bis  wishes,  which  were  judiciously 
intermingled  from  time  to  time  with 
compliments  to  Adrian's  abilities, 
ami  compliments  to  his  own  perspi- 
cacity in  discerning  the  same.  He 
finally  stated  to  Adrian  a  distinct 
proposition,  to  become  his  partner,  to 
have  the  management  of  his  corres- 
pondence and  general  office  business 
at  first ;  and  to  work  into  the  control 
of  the  training  department,  as  it 
might  be  called,  being  that  of  the 
choice  and  management  of  agents 
and  canvassers,  as  soon  as  practica- 
ble ;  to  give  whatever  aid  he  could 
in  all  other  undertakings  of  Mr.  But- 
ton, so  far  as  desired  ;  and  to  act, 
should  the  occasion  arise  and  the 
menus  be  provided,  as  trustee,  or  as 
guardian,  or  both,  under  such  proper 
instrument  as  Mr.  Button  should 
execute  for  the  purpose.  A  liberal 
revenue,  by  a  percentage  on  the 
whole  business  income  of  the  con- 
cern, was  provided.  In  conclusion 
he  referred  to  his  unexpected  satis- 


faction at  finding  such  valuable  busi- 
ness qualifications  in  one  whose  pro- 
posed very  close  connection  with  his 
family  made  their  possession  pecu- 
liarly important,  and  he  suggested 
how  greatly  the  same  connection 
would  promote  and  strengthen  the 
arrangement  he  wished ;  and  he 
ended  with  a  specification  of  the  first 
enterprise  to  be  carried  through  un- 
der the  new  reign  —  the  issue  of  his 
proposed '  History  of  the  Bible."  "  If 
I  can  git  that  shoved  under  folkses 
noses  as  handsomely  as  you  put 
them  pints  Monday,  that  book '11 
make  a  few-roar,  certain  —  and  a 
good  many  roar  too,  it's  my  opinion. 
And  there  hain't  no  sech  chance 
been  offered  to  a  young  man  in  New 
York  city  this  fifty  years,  I  reckon. 
—  Wal,  Adrian?" 

What  Mr.  Button  said  was  doubt- 
less quite  true.  Adrian  had  only  to 
say  one  syllable,  and  he  was  rich. 
Nor  was  he  one  of  those  imperfectly 
organized  persons  who  are  indiffer- 
ent to  riches.  Money  is  like  other 
temptations  :  not  to  resist  it  is  wick- 
ed :  lint  not  to  appreciate  it  is  foolish. 
And  Adrian  had  come  with  the  defi- 
nite resolve  to  say  this  Yes,  as  being 
the  short  straight  road  to  the  honora- 
ble performance  of  all  his  promises, 
and  to  a  creditable  and  perhaps  suf- 
ficiently useful  position  in  life. 

But  at  this  last  moment  he  found 
in  himself  a  profound  reluctance  ;  just 
as  many  an  intending  suicide  has 
stopped  when  the  cold  steel  touched 
his  flesh,  or  when  the  cup  with  the 
dose  poured  out  was  sloped  towards 
his  open  mouth,  or  when  already 
bent  over  the  dark  cold  water.  He 
absolutely  could  not  utter  the  word 
which  he  had  as  it  were  lying  ready 
made  upon  the  very  tip  of  his  tongue. 
But  this  reluctance  was  from  no 
victory  of  selfish  wishes  over  unself- 


Scrope;    or,  The  Lost  Library. 


179 


ish  resolutions  What  Mr.  Button 
had  been  rehearsing  had  brought  be- 
fore him  with  renewed  vividness  con- 
siderations that  it  was  quite  right  for 
him  to  pause  upon.  It  was  a  pro- 
found love  of  the  good  and  the  beau- 
tiful and  the  true,  a  profound  horror 
of  the  evil  and  the  ugly,  that  bore 
his  soul  backward  from  the  verge  to 
which  his  reason  and  his  will  had 
brought  him.  Even  the  unusual  kind- 
ness and  softness  of  Mr  Button's 
manner,  while  it  affected  Adrian 
deeply,  yet  —  and  to  his  astonish- 
ment—  repelled  him  strongly.  No 
wonder,  however ;  it  is  always  so 
with  affectionate  demonstrations  from 
the  unfit. 

So  he  hesitated  at  the  very  last 
moment ;  he  was  seeing  with  the 
swift  vividness  of  a  strong  imagina- 
tion all  the  distress  of  future  years  : 
the  interminable  company  of  bitter- 
minded  women  ;  an  imbecile  and  bru- 
tal-mannered ward  furious  at  being 
deprived  of  the  control  of  his  own 
property  ;  a  hard  slavery  to  business, 
and  loss  after  loss  of  all  the  knowl- 
edges that  he  loved  ;  a  shrinkage  and 
hardening  of  life  instead  of  its  expan- 
sion ;  —  no  wonder  that  the  dollar 
question  did  not  greatly  weigh  with 
him.  A  valid  check  to  bearer  for  the 
whole  of  Mr.  Button's  means,  waiting 
only  for  his  fingers  to  close  upon  it, 
—  but  indeed  it  was  something  very 
like  the  equivalent  of  such  a  paper 
that  he  was  delaying  over,  —  such  a 
check  all  ready  before  him,  or  even 
the  sum  itself  in  actual  money,  —  in 
the  mood  of  the  moment,  —  would 
have  affected  him  as  much  as  the 
phantoms  of  values  with  which  the 
frugal  reverence  of  the  Chinese  cheats 
the  ghosts  of  their  dead. 

But  the  tenderness  of  men  like 
Mr.  Button  is  not  to  be  trifled  with. 
It  is  too  unnatural  a  condition  not  to 


be  almost  a  mortification  in  itself; 
and  especially  if  it  is  not  responded 
to,  it  is  likely  to  react  into  an  excess 
of  violence.  This  Adrian  felt ;  but 
indeed  all  these  phases  of  feeling  had 
been  passing  through  his  mind  while 
Mr.  Button  spoke.  So  he  paused 
but  a  very  few  moments  before  re- 
plying. As  the  capitalist  ceased 
speaking,  Adrian,  who  had  been  look- 
ing at  him,  naturally  looked  down  as 
one  who  considers.  Mr.  Button,  sur- 
prised at  even  this  pause,  repeated 
his  last  words,  with  some  impatience 
of  tone, — 

"Wal,  Adrian?" 

"  I  mean  to  accept,"  said  Adrian 
at  last,  frankly,  and  yet  with  an  ef- 
fort, and  a  shade  of  constraint  in  his 
voice,  —  "  but  I  want  to  know  about 
one  or  two  matters  of  detail." 

"Mean  to  accept?"  replied  Mr. 
Button,  with  some  asperity,  but  not 
yielding  entirely  to  his  dissatisfac- 
tion,—  "  why  don't  ye,  then?  We 
can  fix  up  the  details  afterwards, 
can't  we?" 

"  Well  then,. —  just  one  thing  that 
troubles  me,"  said  Adrian,  almost 
ashamed  of  himself,  aud  yet  uncon- 
sciousby,  —  and  perhaps  in  conse- 
quence of  that  very  embarrassment, 
bringing  up  the  most  dangerous 
subject  he  could  have  suggested, — 
not  that  it  was  not  the  right  thing  to 
do,  —  "just  one  thing.  You  don't 
know  what  some  of  your  tenants  are 
using  your  real  estate  for.  Now, 
could  I  have  a  chance  to  show  you 
the  facts,  and  have  some  of  those 
infamous  places  cleaned  out  ?  " 

Mr.  Button  was  angry,  instantly  ; 
triply  angry  ;  with  a  sense  of  kind- 
ness abused,  a  sense  of  being  imper- 
tinently meddled  with,  and  last  and 
hottest,  and  least  conscious  of  all, 
with  an  apprehension  lest  he  should 
be  forced  to  know  something  that  he 


180 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


did  not  mean  to  know,  and  so  made 
to  lose  rent. 

tk  I  have  n't  a  piece  of  real  estate 
that  is  n't  in  the  hands  of  perfectly 
respectable  men,"  he  said — "not 
one.  If  there  's  any  irregularity  it 's 
against  my  express  orders,  and  they 
don't  like  it  no  better  'n  I  do  ;  and 
they'll  stop  it  as  soon  as  they  can. 
Sech  things  will  naterally  happen  in 
a  city  like  this,  without  anybody  's 
bein  to  blame.  But  my  real  estate  's 
all  satisfactory  to  me,  and  I  can't 
break  up  my  leases,  either,  jest  to 
please  your  squeamishness,  Adrian." 

All  this  was  excuse,  and  bad  ex- 
cuse too,  and  Mr.  Button  knew  it, 
and  the  knowledge  made  him  grow 
angrier  as  he  spoke. 

"  Wal,  I  snum  !  "  he  exclaimed,  in 
continuation,  with  the  New  Eng- 
lander's  attempt  to  get  the  relief  of 
an  oath  without  the  guilt  of  it  —  "I 
snum  !  I  might  a  known,  after  all, 
how  't  would  be  !  I'cla  darn  sight 
better  a  waited  and  let  ye  come 
askin  me.  Offered  sarvice  allers 
stinks,  my  old  father  used  to  say. 
I  'm  sorry  I  offered  it  to  ye.  I  'm 
sorry,  almost,  I  offered  any  sarvice 
to  old  Van  Braam  too.  Confound 
sech  a  high-flyin  crowd  !  I  guess  if 
I  should   send  him  in  a  bill  for  rent 

0  them  premises  he  occupies,  he  'd 
find  out,  and  so  he  would  about  that 
secretaryship  o  his  'n,  if  I  did  n't 
keep  him  in  it.  I  don't  think  no 
great  o  him  ;  I  'd  jest  as  lief  any- 
body 'd  know  that ;   so  I  would  that 

1  '11  stick  by  those  of  my  blood  —  if 
they  '11  let  me.  Wal,  I  've  a  great 
mind,  jest  this  minute,  to  cut  off  all 
round,  and  let  every  man  skin  his 
own  skunks.  General  Jackson  said 
he  heard  of  a  man  once  that  made 
an  independent  fortin  a  mindin  his 
own  business.  That 's  the  way  I 
made  mine  too.      And  if  }-ou  ever 


do  make  one,  Adrian,  it'll  be  the 
same  way,  I  can  tell  ye  that !  " 

"  But  I  did  not  mean  to  displease 
you,  my  clear  sir,"  said  Adrian,  who 
did  not  know  the  secret  of  what  a 
sarcastic  wit  once  called  "  the  virtu- 
ous indignation  of  a  guilty  con- 
science," —  "I  meant  to  do  }*ou  a 
real  service,  and  I  thought  you  would 
be  glad  of  it." 

"  O  yes,  —  wal,  I  hain't  no  doubt 
on 't,  Adrian  —  not  a  bit.  You  're 
like  the  Baptist  minister  that  had 
been  a-la}dn  down  the  law  to  God 
Almighty  in  his  prayer,  and  then 
apologized  by  sa}Tin,  '  Oh  Lord,  we 
don't  presume  to  dictate,  but  only 
to  advise  ! '  You  're  altogether  too 
fast,  —  altogether.  You  must  n't  be 
in  sech  a  hurry,  or  you  '11  find  3rou  've 
washed  more  close  'n  ye  c'n  hang  out, 
right  off  !  " 

Adrian  was  too  much  displeased 
with  the  vulgar  anger  of  Mr.  Button, 
to  take  any  note  of  the  interesting 
illustration  which  these  observations 
afforded,  of  the  natural  tendency  of 
strong  rude  intellects  to  the  use  of 
such  concentrated  wisdom  as  these 
proverbial  and  anecdotic  enforce- 
ments. Yet  they  were  signs  of  na- 
tive powers  which  might  have  made 
the  vulgar  angry  brute  a  great  ora- 
tor. Intense  passion,  pictorial  rep- 
resentation of  it  —  what  more  is 
needed  to  swa}r  a  popular  assembh'  ? 
Indeed,  it  was  an  obscure  conscious- 
ness of  these  very  powers  that  made 
Mr.  Button  wish  to  be  a  member  of 
Congress,  or  a  public  man  of  some 
kind  ;  and  one  of  his  motives  for  se- 
curing Adrian's  confidential  services 
was,  a  half-defined  purpose  of  mak- 
ing some  sort  of  a  finishing  precep- 
tor of  him  —  a  piece  of  literary 
sand-paper,  so  to  speak.  But  his 
wrath  was  inexpressibry  repellent  to 
Adrian,  and  far   more   so   was  his 


Scrojpe;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


181 


reference  to  the  assistance  he  had 
conferred  upon  Mr.  Van  Braam.  "  I 
don't  think  I  can  possibly  expose 
myself  to  an}r  such  suggestions  as 
that,"  was  Adrian's  feeling,  and  un- 
der this  apprehension  of  personal 
indignity,  his  predetermined  Yes  in- 
stantly turned  into  an  approximate 
No.     He  rose  at  once,  saying,  — 

"  Well  then  ;  I  can't  expect  you  to 
continue  3*0 ur  offer,  since  I  have  been 
so  unfortunate  as  to  offend  3*011  so 
much.  You  are  quite  right  in  calling 
it  a  liberal  one  ;  I  never  heard  any- 
thing more  handsome  ;  and  although 
I  look  upon  it  as  withdrawn,  I  am 
really  and  very  thankful  to  you  for 
having  made  it."  And  he  held  out 
his  hand  to  the  publisher  : 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  .said  Mr.  Button  ; 
and  he  put  his  two  hands  to  the  back 
of  his  thick,  strong  neck  ;  —  "  wait  a 
minute.  There's  that  pain  again. 
It 's  queer.  Sometimes  I  think  I  'm 
altogether  done  up.  Seddown,  sed- 
down      You  're  too  fast." 

Adrian  resumed  his  seat,  but  kept 
his  hat  in  his  hand.  Mr.  Button  sat 
silent,  evidently  recovering  his  self- 
command.  After  a  few  minutes  he 
said,  — 

"There  's  no  use  in concludin now, 
—  I  had  n't  no  call  to  fly  off  the  han- 
dle, whether  or  no.  I  won't  take  an 
answer  from  3-e  to-day.  It's  too 
important  a  matter  to  hurry.  But 
you  've  got  my  proposition,  an3*  way. 
Now  go  and  mull  it  over  at  3*our  lei- 
sure. Take  time  for  it ;  and  make 
up  your  mind  deliberately." 

Certainty  this  was  fair  reasoning  ; 
and  Adrian,  feeling  that  he  could  not 
refuse,  assented,  and  so  went  away. 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

As  Adrian  purposed  to  set  out  for 
Hartford  the  same  afternoon,  he  went 


from  Mr.  Button's  office  to  his  board- 
ing-place, with  intent  to  prepare  for 
departure.  He  went  leisurely,  and 
stopped,  as  was  his  custom  on  occa- 
sion, to  see  divers  sights,  and  more 
particularly  to  examine  the  stock  in 
trade  of  one  or  two  print-shops,  in 
order  to  find,  if  he  could,  a  suitable 
substitute  for  the  unhapp3*  print  which 
he  had  destro3~ed  from  over  Mr.  Van 
Braam's  mantel-piece. 

In  choosing  this  picture  he  expe- 
rienced a  good  deal  of  difficulty.  His 
modest  finances  would  no  J;  admit  of 
a  good  oil-painting,  or  water-color 
drawing  ;  what  people  call  a  "  chro- 
mo,"  he  despised  almost  to  a  Rusk- 
inic  extreme ;  the  various  sun-pic- 
tures he  truly  estimated  as  studies 
rather  than  pictures,  so  that  he  was  left 
to  do  the  best  he  could  with  engrav- 
ings. So  he  examined  lithographs  and 
steel  engravings,  etchings  and  mez- 
zotints ;  landscapes,  sacred  subjects, 
comic  pictures,  domestic  and  senti- 
mental groups,war-pictures,  portraits, 
historical  scenes,  in  endless  variety, 
faying  to  choose  something  with 
thought  enough  to  bear  acquaintance, 
with  happiness  enough  of  some  kind, 
whether  human,  animal,  or  the  repre- 
sentative happiness  of  J03XWS  land- 
scape, to  be  a  comfort,  and  with 
artistic  merit  enough  to  bear  fair 
criticism.  A  good  copy  of  Henriquel- 
Dupont's  immense  plate  of  Dela- 
roche's  Hemicycle  tempted  him,  but 
were  too  big  and  too  costly.  A 
Marie  Antoinette  before  the  Revolu- 
tionaiy  Tribunal  after  the  same  pow- 
erful master,  the  noble  Ecce  Homo 
after  Guercino,  a  dark,  cold,  strong 
picture  of  Odin  speeding  over  the 
northern  snows  on  some  errand  of 
death,  with  his  raven  at  his  side, 
Kaulbach's  weird  battle  of  the  phan- 
toms, fighting  again  in  the  air  over 
the  heads  of  the  furious  fleshby  war- 


182 


Scroj)e;    or,   The  Lost  Library. 


riors  on  the  earth,  he  examined  and 
rejected.  A  sad  or  gloomy  thought, 
whether  great  or  small,  complex  or 
simple,  weak  or  strong,  is  no  good 
possession,  if  to  be  used  alone.  Next 
he  found  a  large  photograph  of  the 
pyramids  and  the  Sphinx,  whose  excep- 
tional portrait  value  redeemed  it  out 
of  the  class  of  mere  studies  ;  and  he 
was  specially  attracted  by  the  funny 
expression  of  undismayed  joviality 
upon  the  gigantic  battered  phiz  of 
the  Sphinx,  who  seemed  to  "  come 
up  smiling  "  from  her  terrific  punish- 
ment b}'  the  ages,  although  their 
pounding  had  beaten  a  vast  hollow 
where  her  venerable  nose  had  orig- 
inally been.  Yet  upon  reflection 
this  picture,  while  a  capital  one  to 
*  be  included  in  a  portfolio,  seemed 
too  peculiar  to  be  placed  alone  in  a 
sitting-room.  In  such  a  place,  gen- 
iality and  breadth  of  association,  not 
grimness  and  separated  quaintness, 
are  wanted.  Then  came  Hamon's 
delightful  little  fancy,  "  Ma  Soeur  n'y 
est  pas  "  ;  then  Holman  Hunt's  bur- 
glar-like "  Light  of  the  World."  At 
last,  just  as  he  was  on  the  point  of 
giving  over  the  pursuit  for  that  time, 
he  found  what  he  wanted,  —  a  steel 
engraving  it  was,  broad  in  execution, 
yet  so  soft  in  parts  that  at  first  sight 
you  took  it  for  a  lithograph.  It  had 
no  name,  nor  any  designation  of 
either  painter  or  engraver  ;  but  its 
level,  strong  meadow  plane,  its  long, 
long  vista  straight  and  far  into  the 
distance,  its  perfect  atmospheric  per- 
spective, the  enjoying,  powerful, 
thoughtful  skill  of  the  whole  manage- 
ment, proved  it  to  be  after  Rousseau. 
It  was  a  partly  wooded  foreground, 
from  which  yoxx  looked  out  be3-ond 
and  through  one  open  glade  after  an- 
other, until  you  seemed  to  glide  miles 
upon  miles  away  to  the  distant  hori- 
zon, carried  evenly  and  resolutely  by 


the  strong  will  of  the  artist,  over  the 
vast  and  fertile  plain.  In  the  shade 
of  this  foreground  sat  a  young  couple, 
the  lady  with  some  work,  the  gentle- 
man reading  to  her.  That  was  all  — 
but  it  was  enough.  Paying  what  was 
asked,  without  bargaining,  Adrian 
took  it  under  his  arm  and  passed  on, 
well  pleased. 

At  entering  the  door  of  his  tempo- 
rary abode,  the  servant  handed  him 
a  letter,  which,  she  said,  had  been 
left  there  for  him  some  time  before. 
The  superscription  was  in  the  hand- 
writing of  Miss  Ann  Button,  and 
something  was  enclosed.  With  a  curi- 
ous mixture  of  presentiments,  Adrian 
hastened  up  to  his  hall-bedroom,  and 
opened  the  letter.  The  enclosure  was 
the  ring  which  he  had  last  seen  on 
Miss  Button's  finger,  —  the  engage- 
ment ring  which  he  had  given  her, — 
and  the  letter  was  a  peremptorj'  dis- 
missal, dated  about  an  hour  back. 
Thus  it  ran  :  — 

Dear  Adrian:  —  Tt  is  with  much  pain 
that  I  send  you  back  your  ring.  I  have  for 
some  time  been  convinced  that  it  would  be  a 
greater  mistake  to  keep  on  with  my  engage- 
ment to  you,  than  to  discontinue  it.  Recent 
occurrences  have  made  me  more  certain  of 
this  than  ever  ;  and  the  prayers  and  counsels 
of  one  whom  I  revere  almost  as  a  parent, 
have  this  very  day,  and  not  for  the  first  time, 
warned  me,  not  to  be  unequally  yoked  with 
an  unbeliever.  I  have  been  greatly  wounded 
by  recent  expressions  of  yours  upon  religious 
subjects,  and  so  has  my  mother.  It  is  with 
her  advice  as  well  as  that  of  my  beloved 
pastor  that  I  now  act.  We  had  better  not 
see  each  other  for  the  present.  Let  us,  how- 
ever, still  be  friends.  I  wish  you  every  hap- 
piness in  this  life  and  a  better  prepa- 
ration for  that  which  is  to  come.  Some 
things  which  I  have  observed  have  made  me 
think  that  you  have  already  discovered  a 
more  congenial  companion  than  I  could  have 
been.  I  need  not  forgive  her,  for  she  has 
not  done  anything  wrong,  in  this  matter  at 
least.  Yet  I  cannot  conscientiously  ask  the 
blessing  of  Heaven  on  any  human  relations 
unhallowed  by  the  consolations  of  religion. 
May  you  be  bro\ightto  know  your  sinful  con- 
dition before  it  shall  be  forever  too  late. 
Your  Friend, 

Ann  J.  Button. 


Scrojye;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


183 


A  irian  read  this  stiff  and  cold  letter 
—  a  very  corpse  of  a  letter — twice 
through,  with  feelings  that  seemed  to 
him  thoroughly  improper  in  a  rejected 
lover.  He  wanted  to  laugh,  and  to 
hurra,  in  fact.  "  I  ought  to  be  mor- 
tified, seems  to  me,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  and  here  I  am,  feeling  like  a 
prisoner  unexpectedly  let  out  of 
jail !  "  And  catching  a  glimpse  of 
his  own  delighted  countenance  in  the 
glass,  he  did  laugh  aloud,  in  spite 
of  propriety. 

Then  he  set  himself  to  consider 
what  might  be  the  facts  of  the  case. 
Had  he  been  to  blame  by  neglecting 
Ann,  or  in  being  too  attentive  to 
others  ?  Certainly  not,  unless  —  and 
here  his  conscience  did  give  him  a 
sort  of  dig  —  certainly  not,  unless  in 
the  case  of  Civille.  With  her  name 
a  profound  wave  of  happiness  and 
hope  swept  through  the  young  man's 
soul.  And  he  no  longer  resisted  it  ; 
he  floated  away  into  the  dream-world 
of  love.  He  had  never  known  of  it 
before  ;  the  thrill  and  glow  of  his 
own  emotion  —  when  he  came  to  a 
consciousness  of  his  thoughts  —  al- 
most scared  him.  Then,  with  an  ef- 
fort, he  resumed  his  process  of  rem- 
iniscence. He  had  been  as  attentive 
to  Ann  as  she  would  permit.  But 
her  cold  close  nature  had  mostly 
forbidden  even  the  discreet  intimacy 
which  is  thought  proper  in  such  cases. 
How  cold  and  secretive  she  was,  ap- 
peared plainly  enough  in  her  utter 
silence  about  these  recent  griefs  of 
hers,  until  the  last  moment,  in  the 
severe  air  of  reproving  sanctity  with 
which  she  conferred  damnation  on 
her  lover,  and  in  the  prompt  and 
almost  brisk  decision  with  which  she 
cast  him  out  of  her  —  hands.  But 
again ;  had  he  done  wrong  in  the 
matter  of  Civille  ?  He  thought  and 
thought ;    he  could  not  see  that  he 


had.  At  the  most,  he  had  without 
consciousness  or  intention  suddenly 
found  himself  dangerously  delighting 
in  her  ;  and  as  soon  as  he  saw  this, 
he  had  in  good  faith  tried  a  short 
road  out  of  the  peril,  without  even 
waiting  to  see  whether  his  wish  co- 
incided with  his  duty.  And  on  this 
short  road,  he  had  received  already 
two  stout  and  unexpected  rebuffs, 
from  the  very  persons  in  whose  in- 
terests he  had  been  acting,  and  acting 
in  perfect  disregard  of  any  prefer- 
ences of  his  own.  Mr.  Button  had 
shown  him  very  plainly  that  he  meant 
to  permit  no  ethical  views  to  be  con- 
founded with  his  financiering.  And 
now  Ann,  for  whom  solefy  —  except 
so  far  as  the  keeping  of  his  own  faith 
with  her  might  be  a  separate  motive — 
for  whom  solely  except  for  this,  he 
was  escaping  away  from  heaven  as  fast 
as  he  could,  stood  up  and  thrust  him 
irresistibly  back.  "It  is  good  that 
I  did  not  stop  to  think  about  it  all," 
reflected  Adrian,  "or  I  believe  I 
should  have  spoken  first !  "  And 
he  yielded  to  the  stroke  thus  aimed 
at  him,  without  wish  or  thought  of 
warding  or  returning  it ;  back  he 
hastened  into  paradise  as  fast  as  he 
could. 

First  he  sat  down  and  wrote, 
briefly,  but  kindly,  for  he  felt  so 
happy  that  he  wished  well  to  every- 
body in  the  world,  to  Mr.  Button, 
enclosing  Ann's  note,  and  saying 
that  this  step  of  hers  totally  changed 
all  the  relations  of  the  parties  to  each 
other ;  and  that  accordingly  it  was 
necessary  to  postpone  all  their  pro- 
posed business  plans  for  the  present. 
And  he  explained  that  he  believed 
Ann  had  really  done  what  was  best 
for  all  concerned,  and  expressed  what 
he  really  felt :  sincere  regard  for  her, 
and  respect  for  the  perspicacity 
which  had  discerned  the  state  of  her 


184 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


own  feelings,  and  for  the  decision 
which  had  so  promptly  acted  upon 
them. 

Then  he  completed  his  small  task 
of  packing  up.  Then  he  took  his  pic- 
ture under  his  arm  and  hastened  to 
Mr.  Van  Braam's.  He  found  Civille 
in  the  parlor,  but  not  alone.  She 
had  lying  on  her  lap  a  little  baby, 
rather  dark-complexioned,  and  with 
black  eyes,  that  kicked  and  crowed 
while  she  played  with  it  and  laughed 
with  it.  The  mother  stood  by,  —  a 
rather  good-looking  mulatto  woman, 
with  that  glossy,  wavy  hair  which 
indicates  some  mixture  of  Indian 
blood,  and  with  that  combination  of 
intense  passionate  and  lowering  looks 
in  her  features,  which  is  so  often 
seen  in  the  negro-Indian  half-breed. 

"  I  can't  bear  to  have  you  carry  the 
dear  little  thing  away,"  Civille  was 
just  saying,  as  Adrian  was  shown 
in.  "  I  'in  ever  so  much  obliged  to 
3'ou,  Mrs.  Barnes,"  she  continued,  as 
she  exchanged  greetings  with  her 
visitor,  "  for  letting  me  have  her  so 
long.  You  '11  bring  her  again,  won't 
you?" 

Mrs.  Barnes  promised ;  but  the 
baby,  having  the  babyish  faculty  of 
knowing  who  loved  it,  felt  the  strong 
sweet  yearning  that  surrounded  her, 
and  at  being  held  out  to  its  own 
mother,  set  up  a  terrible  howl.  Mrs. 
Barnes'  bright  black  eyes  flashed  with 
unreasoning  anger. 

4k  Not  if  you  make  my  child  love 
you  better  than  me ! "  But  she 
added  in  a  moment,  "  Beg  pardon, 
miss,  but  it  hurt  me  to  see  her  cry 
at  having  to  come  back  to  me.  I  've 
got  a  terrible  temper.  And  God 
knows  it's  but  a  bad  home  the  little 
thing  will  get  with  me,  and  a  right 
poor  prospect.  Thank  you  kindly ; 
and  I  '11  be  sure  and  bring  her.  Per- 
haps it  would  be  the  best  thing  could 


happen  to  her,  after  all,  to  forget  her 
own  mother  entirely." 

"  Good-bye,  dear,"  said  Civille, 
kissing  the  poor  little  thing,  "  we  '11 
both  love  you,  baby.  And  Mrs. 
Barnes,  I  '11  do  anything  I  can  for 
you  too ;  for  bab3-'s  sake  and  for 
your  own." 

"You're  very  good,  I'm  sure, 
miss,"  said  Mrs.  Barnes,  as  she  with- 
drew. 

"  That 's  the  poor  little  baby  they 
turned  out  of  the  Shadowing  Wings 
last  week,"  said  Civille  to  Adrian, 
her  beautiful  eyes  full  of  tears  as  she 
spoke  ;  —  "  Dear  little  funny  thing  ! 
I  '11  tell  30U  a  secret,  cousin  Adrian,'' 
she  continued,  —  "I  mean  to  adopt 
that  little  girl,  if  her  mother  will  give 
her  to  me." 

"  Do  you?  "  said  Adrian,  who  was 
not  in  any  mood  of  mind  to  disap- 
prove or  oppose  any  wish  of  Civille' s 
—  at  least  directly  —  "  that  is  very 
lovely  in  you." 

"  I  did  not  tell  Mrs.  Barnes  so ; 
but  I  wanted  to." 

Now,  loveby  as  Adrian  found  the 
disposition  which  was  impelling  Ci- 
ville, this  particular  bab}-,  if  any  ex- 
isting bab}',  was  not  the  precise  one 
to  which  he  would  on  the  whole  have 
first  directed  her  maternal  instincts. 
But  he  had  too  much  tact  —  and  his 
sentiments  towards  Civille  at  present 
reinforced  that  tact  —  to  say  just 
that.  So  he  executed  a  flank  move- 
ment. 

"  You  must  consider  one  imme- 
diate question,  and  one  future  one, 
before  you  full}"  decide,"  he  said, 
"  for  a  real  adoption,  \o\\  know,  is 
for  life." 

"  Yes,  — I  know  it." 

"  Well ;  I  think  you  were  telling 
me  one  day  about  your  pets  that 
died?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Civille,  as  a  sad  look 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


185 


came  over  her  face,  — "  my  poor 
little  canary,  my  little  dog  —  all  of 
them  —  " 

"  '  All  my  little  ones,  —  all ! '  " 
quoted  Adrian.  "  But,  my  dear 
cousin,  will  3~ou  please  also  to  con- 
sider what  your  father  or  yourself 
also  told  me  about  your  own  health 
having  somewhat  failed  since  you 
came  to  this  house  to  live  ?  And  I 
know,  myself,  that  you  are  not  as 
strong  as  you  ought  to  be.  Aivybody 
can  see  it  that  knows  how  to  look  at 
faces.  Please  to  confess  that  you 
are  more  nervous,  and  more  easily 
tired,  than  you  ought  to  be." 

"  Yes,  —  I  am,"  said  Civille  ;  "  but 
what  do  you  mean,  Adrian  ?  " 

"  And  see  how  magnificently  3-our 
plants  grow,"  continued  he,  pointing 
to  the  luxuriant  leafage  and  rich 
blooms  in  the  little  flower  room.  Ci- 
ville looked,  but  was  more  puzzled 
than  ever. 

"  You  live  here,  and  don't  pei*ceive 
what  I  do,  who  come  from  the  coun- 
try. The  moment  I  was  well  within 
New  York  cit}^,  I  felt  the  air  to  be 
dead,  and  dirty.  It  feels  so  and 
smells  so  to  me  all  the  time.  I  don't 
believe  I  could  bear  to  be  locked  into 
such  an  infected  place  for  life.  Now 
that  same  difficulty  is  worse  here  in 
this  old  house,  for  it  does  not  ven- 
tilate well ;  you  know  your  father 
keeps  it  as  much  shut  up  as  he  can, 
and  the  drainage  certainly  is  not 
right.  I  know  it  is  n't,  for  I  never 
come  in  here  without  being  reminded 
of  it.  And  remember  that  plants 
will  flourish  in  air  that  is  abominable 
for  animals.  It  is  this  close  old  house 
that  killed  your  poor  little  pets,  Ci- 
ville ;  it  is  keeping  your  own  health 
down ;  and  if  3^011  do  adopt  this  nice 
little  baby,  don't  you  do  it  while  3-ou 
live  here." 

The  force  of  the  facts,  and  the 


earnestness  of  the  manner  in  which 
the3r  were  put,  made  Civille  look  very 
thoughtful ;  she  considered  a  moment, 
and  then  agreed  that  she  would  at 
least  wait  a  little. 

"  Ask  Doctor  Veroil,"  said  Adrian  ; 
"  he  's  a  man  of  capital  good  sense 
as  well  as  a  kind  heart ;  he  likes  you, 
and  he  '11  give  3*011  the  right  advice. 
In  fact,  I  '11  abide  hy  what  he  sa3*s 
—  I'm  not  afraid  to  promise  that  in 
advance.     I  wish  3'ou  would  too  !  " 

Adrian  felt  quite  safe  in  this  offer  ; 
for  the  truth  is  that  he  promised  him- 
self to  see  the  doctor  and  get  him  well 
primed  before  Civille  should  have  a 
chance  at  him.     But  he  resumed :  — 

"  That  is  the  immediate  consider- 
ation that  I  meant.  The  distant  one 
is  not  so  pressing,  but  it  is  worth 
considering.  You  ought  to  re- 
member the  chances  that  this  little 
girl  will  grow  up  bad,  in  spite  of  you. 
She  is  not  of  a  hopeful  strain.  Have 
you  looked  at  Mrs.  Barnes'  e3'es? 
There  are  some  veiy  wicked  looks  in 
that  woman's  face.  I  have  n't  the 
honor  of  Mr.  Barnes'  acquaintance  " 

"  Oh,  don't,"  said  Civille,  tearfully. 
"  Adrian,  why  do  you  fight  nry  poor 
little  bab3T  so  ?  " 

"•Dear  Civille,"  said  Adrian,  "  an- 
swer me  one  question.  Had  you 
thought  of  either  of  those  things 
3Tourself  ?  " 

"Why  —  no." 

"  Then  was  n't  it  best  that  you 
should  be  brought  to  consider  both 
sides  of  the  question  ?  "  , 

"  —  Yes  —  I  suppose  so,"  said  the 
3-oung  lacby,  who  veiy  natural^-  hated 
to  admit  it. 

"  And  if  I  was  really  fighting  the 
little  thing,"  said  Adrian,  "  how  evi- 
dent it  is  that  my  policy  would  be  to 
get  it  here  as  soon  as  possible,  since 
I  believe  this  house  unhealtlry  for 
it?" 


186 


Scrope;   or,  Tlie  Lost  Library. 


So  Civille  was  silenced,  if  not  con- 
vinced. But  she  agreed  to  ask  Dr. 
Veroil  about  it ;  and  then  she  asked 
what  was  in  the  parcel.  The  picture 
was  produced,  and  was  liked ;  and 
was  found  to  fit  sufficientby  well  in 
the  frame  which  had  so  long  dis- 
played the  agonies  of  the  Dying 
Camel.  Then  Civille  returned  to  the 
sofa  where  the}-  had  been  sitting,  and 
Adrian  too  came  and  sat  by  her 
where  he  had  sat  before.     He  said, 

"  Cousin  Civille,  I  would  like  to 
hold  your  two  hands  once  more  just 
for  a  moment,  before  I  go  back  to 
Hartford  this  afternoon." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  promptly  and 
simply,  and  held  them  out  to  him. 
He  took  them,  crossing  his  own,  as 
he  had  done  at  the  room  of  Mrs. 
Babbles  in  Depau  Row,  and  looked 
once  more  into  the  deep  limpid  gray 
eyes. 

"Ah,"  she  said,  "  you  must  n't ! 
You  must  n't  put  me  asleep  again, 
cousin  Adrian !  " 

"  I  won't,"  he  replied.  And  the 
emotion  that  arose  within  him  gave 
her  a  troubled  feeling  ;  and  an  ex- 
pression of  perplexity,  with  a  shade 
of  apprehension,  came  oyer  her  face. 
"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  sh}* 
smile  and  a  faint  blush 

"  Dear  Civille,"  he  said,  "  some- 
thing has  happened  to  me  to-da}-  that 
I  should  have  said  I  ought  to  feel 
sorry  for,  and  I  am  as  glad  as  I  can 
be.  And  it  has  explained  something 
else,  that  I  was  afraid  about  before ; 
but  now  I  am  glad  of  it.  And  still 
something  else  has  happened  which 
most  people  would  think  me  very 
foolish  for  doing ;  but  I  believe  you 
will  think  I  am  right." 

"  What  a  string  of  riddles  !  "  said 
Civille,  looking  more  perplexed  than 
before,  but  yet  somewhat  comforted 
by  the  earnest  gladness  of  Adrian'! 


tone  and  manner.  "What  a  string 
of  riddles  !  And  is  any  reward  of- 
fered for  the  best  answers  to  your 
three  conundrums?"  she  said,  almost 
gayly. 

"  A  reward?  No,  I  am  not  offer- 
ing one  ;  I  am  seeking  one  ;  before  I 
have  earned  it,  too.  Civille,  what  is 
the  reason  that  instead  of  wanting 
to  keep  things  secret  from  you,  as  I 
usually  do  with  other  people,  I  always 
enjoy  the  idea  of  telling  3-011  ?  " 

"Why,  you  have  never  told  me 
much,"  she  said. 

'^Haven't  I?"  he  replied,  impul- 
sively. She  blushed  again  and  looked 
down,  and  he  felt  her  draw  a  little 
away  from  him.  But  he  held  fast, 
and  hastened.  "Wait  just  a  moment," 
he  said,  "I  am  going  away.  —  Civille, 
Mr  Button  has  offered  me  a  partner- 
ship, and  I  have  refused." 

She  looked  up  with  surprise,  yet 
not  with  displeasure. 

"  I  had  decided  to  accept,  this 
morning,  though." 

"  What  changed  3-our  mind  so  sud- 
denly ?  "  asked  the  young  lady. 

"Chiefly,"  he  said,  "Ann's  note, 
which  I  received  afterward,  dismiss- 
ing me." 

Civille  started,  and  looked  up  at 
him  with  a  mixture  in  her  expression 
of  sorrow  with  something  that  Adrian 
could  not  quite  make  out.  But  his 
carefulness  and  deliberation  did  not 
last  him  any  longer.  "  Yes,"  he 
said,  "  she  wrote  to  me  that  she  would 
not  be  unequally  3'oked  with  an  un- 
believer. That  was  Doctor  Toom- 
ston's  text  Sunday.  Perhaps  he 
meant  me.  She  says  he  advised  her, 
at  an}'  rate.  So  did  her  mother,  she 
says.  But,  Civille,  she  was  right. 
She  did  not  love  me,  nor  I  her.  It 
is  you  that  I  love.  Civille,  love 
me  ?  " 
s        "I  love  you,  Adrian,"  she  said, 


Scrope;   or,  The  Lost  Library. 


187 


softly,  but  with  a  feeling  too  deep 
for  passion,  and  blushing  a  little,  she 
looked  for  a  moment,  as  she  spoke, 
directly  into  his  eyes  ;  and  she  re- 
ceived, and  returned,  the  kiss  that  he 
•gave  her. 

"  Yes,  Adrian,  I  love  you.  But  I 
ought  not  to  have  said  it.  I  ought 
not  to  have  kissed  you.  Let  go, 
please  !     Don't,  dear  !  " 

For  he  was,  naturally  enough, 
seeking  to  draw  her  still  nearer.  But 
the  beseeching  tone  of  the  last  words 
was  too  urgent  to  be  resisted,  and  he 
could  not  but  withdraw  a  little,  as 
her  two  slender  hands,  with  soft  im- 
pulse, even  pushed  him  a  little  away. 

"  I  can't,"  she  said.  "  Dear  Adrian, 
I  know  what  3-011  said,  last  evening, 
and  I  have  been  wickedly  happy  ever 
since.  I  should  have  kept  on  so,  too. 
But  I  did  not  know  this  would  hap- 
pen. Poor  Ann !  She  will  not  let 
anybody  love  her  !  " 

Adrian  did  not  know  what  to  make 
of  this  mingling  of  confession  of  love, 
of  reprobation  and  refusal  of  it,  and 
of  discursive  benevolence. 

"  Nor  you  either,  it  would  seem," 
he  replied,  almost  discontentedly. 
"  I  don't  understand  it  at  all,  Civille. 
I  felt  so  sure  !  Well,  I  had  no  right 
to.     But  you  don't  mean  it,  Civille  ?  " 

"  Yes  I  do,  dear.  And  3'ou  will 
say  I  am  right  when  I  tell  you  the 


reasons.  Now,  you  must  n't  look  dis- 
pleased. Dear  Adrian,  if  I  had  n't 
thought  about  you  more  than  I  had 
any  business  to,  could  I  have  had  an 
answer  all  reasoned  out,  ready  for 
you  now  ?  " 

It  was  true ;  the  fact  that  she  had 
indulged  in  dreaming  of  him  even  as 
a  refused  lover,  was  in  some  way  an 
alleviation  of  the  painful  sense  of 
lonesomeness  that  began  to  arise  in 
him,  as  he  felt  that  Civille's  real  mean- 
ing was  a  refusal.  But  still,  it  was 
a  man's  reply  that  he  made,  — 

"  I  wish  you  had  not  given  me  one 
single  kiss,  then  !  " 

"  I  don't,"  was  the  woman's  an- 
swer. "  It  would  be  sweet  to  mo 
alwa}Ts,  even  if  I  should  never  see 
you  again." 

"  You  are  right,  Civille.  But  now 
—  tell  me  ?  " 

As  he  asked,  the  front  door  was 
heard  to  open.  "It's  father,"  she 
said,  —  "to  lunch.  Don't  let  him 
know.  I  '11  write  to  3'ou.  You  have 
a  right  to  be  told  ;  perhaps  I  can 
write  more  easily." 

"  I  am  not  sure  but  that  I  would 
prefer  a  broad,  plain,  gilt  frame,  af- 
ter all,"  said  poor  Adrian,  in  a  tone 
rather  louder  than  usual,  jumping  up 
so  as  to  be  standing  on  the  hearth- 
rug as  Mr.  Van  Braam  came  in. 
"  Gold  always  lights  up  a  picture." 


188 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


PART   X. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


"Gold  lights  up  the  picture,"  Adri- 
an repeated  to  himself  as  he  walked 
slowly  away  from  the  old  house,  in  a 
most  discomforted  and  unsatisfactory 
frame  of  mind.  He  could  hardly 
have  told  how  he  got  out,  and  he 
wondered  what  Mr.  Van  Braam  must 
have  thought  of  his  confused  appear- 
ance, his  hurry  to  escape,  and  his  in- 
coherent attempts  at  conversation. 

But  habitual  good  manners  cover  a 
multitude  of  sins.  Only  a  very  keen 
penetration  could  have  discerned  the 
disorder  which  to  Adrian  himself, 
struggling  to  repress  it,  seemed  al- 
most an  uproar.  The  very  effort  how- 
ever was  of  itself  quiet;  and  the 
perfect  unsuspicion  of  the  old  gentle- 
man was  an  abundant  supplementary 
protection.  The  phrase  upon  which 
Adrian  had  fallen  in  effecting  the 
sudden  diversion  which  had  been  ne- 
cessary, meanwhile  ran  in  his  mind, 
or  rather  floated  atop  of  it,  as  mere 
phrases  will  sometimes  do  most  perti- 


naciously when  the  real  thoughts  are 
profoundly  absorbed.  "  Gold  lights 
up  the  picture,"  he  kept  saying,  until 
when  he  had  repeated  it  a  few  times, 
a  larger  meaning  flashed  upon  him 
all  at  once,  and  he  laughed  a  short 
uncomfortable  laugh,  at  the  thought 
of  the  gold  he  had  refused  that  morn- 
ing, and  of  the  picture  which  that 
gold  was  to  have  lighted  up. 

The  fact  was,  the  young  man  had 
not  his  wits  clearly  about  him.  He 
was  stunned,  or  dazed,  in  a  manner. 
He  had  been  so  certain  —  he  had  so 
known  —  that  Civille  would  respond 
to  his  request  instantly,  gladly,  utter- 
ly, —  that  her  refusal  perfectly  con- 
founded him.  Even  now,  he  could 
not  realize  that  she  had  refused  him. 
As  he  walked  on,  and  the  disorder  of 
his  feelings  and  thoughts  cleared  up  a 
little,  he  could  not  feel  the  bitterness 
and  shame '  of  one  who  has  been  re- 
fused. He  only  felt  a  sense  of  im- 
mense perplexity,  colored  with  trouble. 
The  question  as  it  lay  before  him, 
though  not  consciously  so  recognized 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


189 


by  him,  was  not,  Why  am  I  rejected? 
but,  Why  am  I  delayed  ? 

Nor  was  this  refusal  of  his  to  ac- 
quiesce in  the  disappointment  a  piece 
of  conceit.  It  was  the  persistence  of 
a  profound  conviction  of  the  suitable- 
ness of  two  souls  for  each  other. 
Thus  he  continued  in  the  same  mind, 
not  from  a  mere  effort  of  will  impelled 
by  motive,  but  from  an  impulse  like 
that  of  gravitation ;  constant,  unva- 
rying, acting  not  as  a  motive  super- 
added, but  as  a  quality  innate,  and 
thus  carrying  him  by  a  grasp  upon 
the  deepest  substructure  of  his  whole 
being,  »so  that  his  will,  or  will  not, 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  but  was 
carried  along  irrespective  of  any  de- 
termination. So  we  sweep  along  on 
the  round  world  and  whirl  round  and 
round  as  we  go;  and  let  us  be  as 
obstinate  for  motionlessness  as  we 
choose,  let  our  indignation  be  as  white- 
hot  as  it  likes  at  the  idea  of  motion, 
let  us  do  our  best  to  contradict  the 
universe  by  hurrying  in  a  contrary 
direction,  it  is  all  in  vain ;  round  and 
round  we  go,  indignation  and  all,  a 
thousand  miles  an  hour,  —  less  per- 
haps thirty  miles  an  hour  that  we 
can  do  by  rail  due  westward  towards 
nullifying  the  earth's  rotation,  — and 
forward  we  sweep  nineteen  miles  a 
second,  without  being  able  to  pull 
back  an  ounce  or  an  inch  —  not  to 
mention  the  general '  motion  of  the 
whole  solar  system  towards  a  point 
in  tbe  constellation  Hercules  at  the 
swiftest  rate  of  all,  forty-nine  miles 
in  a  second  !  Truly,  when  astronom- 
ically considered,  a  man  is  a  miserable 
helpless  mite ! 

However,  Adrian  neither  analyzed 
his  own  mental  structure,  nor  sought 
out  analogies  in  solar  and  stellar  as- 
tronomy. He  simply  hurried.  It  is 
an  instinct  of  strong  healthy  posi- 
tive natures,  to   act.     In   no  matter 


whatever  has  man  more  the  advan- 
tage over  woman,  than  in  being  so 
much  better  situated  for  escaping 
trouble  by  activity.  Ruin,  shame, 
pain,  loss,  disappointment,  bereave- 
ment, any  thing  can  be  lived  through 
by  a  man,  who  has  the  resolution 
(and  vitality)  left  to  plunge  over  head 
into  some  occupation.  It  is  a  wise 
suicide  of  suffering.  He  drowns  him- 
self as  to  his  misery,  by  leaping  into 
the  deepest  abyss  of  occupation  he 
can  find.  Not  that  this  is  a  sure 
cure  for  all.  But  it  is  a  great  relief 
for  almost  all. 

Nor  was  Adrian's  state  an  awful 
immeasurable  grief.  As  just  shown, 
it  was  not  a  destruction,  but  a  storm. 
It  was  however  an  indescribably 
painful  condition,  for  it  was  his  first 
real  disappointment,  —  and  the  first 
real  disappointment,  though  it  be 
recovered  from,  has  a  murdering  fatal 
force  like  the  first  blow  of  the  execu- 
tioner's iron  bar  upon  the  malefactor 
bound  to  the  wheel.  The  sufferer 
may  even  laugh  at  the  second. 

Accordingly,  confused  and  unhappy 
as  he  was,  he  simply  hurried.  He 
walked  swiftly  to  his  lodgings,  com- 
pleted his  few  arrangements,  found 
that  he  had  yet  time  to  walk  to  Peck 
Slip,  —  for  he  took  the  steamboat  to 
New  Haven  rather  than  the  all-rail 
route,  —  and  taking  valise  in  hand, 
he  set  out  at  once,  getting  over  the 
ground  at  a  tremendous  rate.  He 
thought  of  stopping  at  Dr.  Veroil's, 
but  concluded  to  write  instead ;  and 
without  meeting  any  experience  of  im- 
portance, he  proceeded  swiftly  through 
Broadway,  the  City  Hall  Park,  and 
Beekman  Street,  turning  northward 
a  little  way  after  he  had  reached  the 
docks ;  for  he  did  not  know  the  city 
well  enough  to  take  the  shorter  way 
down  the  Bowery  and  the  New  Bow- 
ery to   Peck   Slip   itself,  or  the   cut 


190 


Scrope ;  or.  The  Lost  Library. 


across  the  Park,  and  down  Spruce  and 
Ferry  Streets  through  "  the  Swamp." 
However,  he  was  just  in  season,  and 
stepping  aboard,  intrusted  his  valise 
to  the  Afrite  who  brooded  darkling 
over  the  hidden  treasures  of  the  bag- 
gage-room, and  who,  unlike  his  breth- 
ren of  the  Arabian  Nights,  himself 
furnished  the  magic  token  which  on 
being  rubbed  (i.e.,  shoved  back  to 
him)  should  rescue  its  proper  treasure 
from  his  necromantic  power. 

This  done,  and  his  ticket  purchased, 
he  resorted  at  once  to  the  engineer's 
room, — his  constant  habit  on  steam- 
boats,—  to  look  at  the  engine.  This 
pleasure  is  not  for  a  grown  person 
what  it  is  for  a  child  —  mere  gratifi- 
cation of  unintelligent  curiosity  —  it  is 
a  real  and  high  grade  of  enjoyment, 
whose  strange  and  remote  nature  it  is 
not  easy  to  express.  It  is  like  the 
pleasure  of  watching  a  great  fire,  a 
volcanic  eruption,  from  close  at  hand ; 
of  going  out  into  the  heart  of  a  furi- 
ous storm ;  of  creeping  up  close  to  the 
main  waterfall  at  Niagara  and  look- 
ing up  the  vast  sheet.  Is  it  imagi- 
native, or  spiritual,  or  rather  mingled 
of  both?  Is  there  a 'magnetic  ele- 
ment in  it?  It  is  a  state  of  excite- 
ment, —  emotion,  rather,  —  which  will 
be  found  to  arise  from  being  close  to 
any  vast  force  in  action.  It  was  not 
foolish  curiosity  merely,  but  in  part 
at  least  the  unconscious  perception  of 
this  influence,  which  made  the  chil- 
dren of  Israel  press  near  to  Sinai.  So 
Adrian  leaned  against  the  door-post 
and  waited;  and  shortly  bang  !  went 
a  brass  gong  over  the  head  of  the 
bearded  engineer,  who  quietly  hooked 
on  the  eccentrics,  set  his  lever,  and 
whirling  one  valve  one  way  and 
another  another,  started  the  mon- 
strous machine.  With  long,  dreary, 
quivering  groans,  as  if  the  hot  steam 
agonized     its    very    vitals,    the     vast 


structure  slowly,  very  slowly,  stirred 
and  moved ;  then  as  the  valves  were 
opened  wider  and  wider,  the  steam 
itself  took  the  work  off  the  hands  of 
the  engineer,  who  replaced  the  long 
bright  lever  upright  in  its  socket ;  and 
as  the  boat  glided  cautiously  out  of 
the  slip  and  headed  northward  at 
half-speed,  Adrian  watched  with  quiet 
delight  the  steady  play  of  the  rock- 
shaft  with  its  well-oiled  "  toes,"  and 
followed  in  imagination  the  alter- 
nating rush  of  the  groaning  steam 
through  the  valve-cylinders  and  ports 
into  the  great  main  cylinder  first 
above  and  then  below  the  piston.  A 
rough-looking  man  who  stood  by  him, 
also  watching  the  work  of  the  engine, 
was  evidently  a  guild-brother ;  for 
after  a  few  moments  he  stepped  into 
the  engine-room  with  an  air  of  famil- 
iarity, shook  hands  with  the  engineer, 
and  sat  down  by  him.  Then,  looking 
up  with  disapproval  towards  the  snap- 
ping rattling  SickeJs  cut-off  which  was 
perched  aloft  upon  the  valve-cylinder, 
he  said, 

"  Hmh !  Don't  like  so  much  old 
iron  hitched  up  round.  That  snippety- 
snap  Sickels  cut-off  makes  an  engine- 
room  look  like  the  inside  of  a  Jurgen- 
sen  watch  ! " 

The  engineer  made  some  remark  in 
defence  of  his  immense  hot  pet,  which 
Adrian  did  not  hear  distinctly  ;  and 
having  for  the  time  gazed  his  fill,  he 
strolled  up  into  the  saloon,  and  hav- 
ing for  the  moment  exhausted  his 
external  stimuli,  he  began  to  pace 
moodily  along  the  length  of  the  boat. 
and  to  reflect  upon  his  sorrow — t< 
eat  his  heart,  as  the  barbaric  phrase 
is.  But  before  he  had  half  completed 
half  one  length,  lie  was  called  by 
name,  and  looking  up  with  a  start, 
he  saw  Mr.  Adam  Welles  and  Mr. 
Philetus  Stanley,  who  greeted  him 
with  much   cordiality.     Adrian,  not- 


Scrope  ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


191 


withstanding  a  moment  of  melodra- 
matic longing  after  solitude,  made  the 
best  of  it,  put  on  a  pleasant  face,  and 
returning  their  salutation,  took  the 
seat  which  they  gave  him  and  fell 
into  talk  with  them. 

"  I  was  just  observing  to  Mr. 
Welles,"  said  Stanley,  in  his  precise 
dry  way,  and  with  his  usual  cold  smile, 
"  that  in  order  to  accommodate  him,  I 
would  take  his  share  in  the  Scrope 
Estate  speculation  off  his  hands  at 
cost,  at  any  time." 

"  I  saw  you  did  not  believe  in  the 
business,"  answered  Adrian,  replying 
to  the  thoughts  and  not  to  the  words 
of  the  other,  "at  the  meeting.  I 
think  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me,  Mr. 
Stanley,  you  would  have  smashed  the 
machine,  as  the  politicians  say." 

"  Not  believe  in  the  business  !  " 
exclaimed  honest  old  Adam  Welles,  — 
"  Why,  Mr.  Chester,  what  can  you 
mean?  Mr.  Stanley  believed  in  it 
fifty  dollars'  worth,  I'm  sure,  for  I  saw 
him  pay  it  with  my  own  eyes." 

"Never  mind,  Mr.  Welles,"  said 
Stanley  —  "  I'll  abide  by  my  offer, 
remember." 

"Well,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a 
smile  at  his  own  shrewdness,  "I 
accept  provided  I  find  I'm  going  to 
lose,  but  not  if  I'm  going  to  win. 
I'll  shake  hands  with  you  on  that !  " 

So  he  and  Stanley  went  through 
the  form  of  shaking  hands,  and 
Adrian  moreover  was  invoked  as  a 
witness,  whereupon,  with  much  solem- 
nity, and  to  the  amusement  of  Mr. 
Welles,  he  took  out  his  memorandum- 
book,  and  noted  down  the  agreement, 
with  a  date. 

"  But  now,"  said  Mr.  Welles,  "  Mr. 
Chester,  I  beg  you  to  allow  me  to 
congratulate  you  upon  the  able  man- 
ner in  which  you  convinced  the  as- 
sembly Monday.  I  don't  remember 
any  thing  better  since  that  short  and 


sensible  address  of  the  Town  Clerk 
of  Ephesus." 

Adrian  thanked  the  old  gentleman, 
very  cordially.  There  is  always 
something  peculiarly  affecting  in  the 
hearty  loving  pride  with  which  an 
old  person  regards  the  success  of  a 
young  relative  or  friend.  The  emo- 
tion must  be  by  the  nature  of  the 
case  so  perfectly  disinterested  and 
genuine,  that  it  has  its  full  legitimate 
weight. 

Mr.  Welles  talked  on  for  quite  a 
while,  laughing  as  he  recounted  his 
recollections  of  the  turns  in  the  de- 
bate, and  dwelling  on  his  own  satis- 
faction at  being  a  relative  of  so 
many  persons  of  present  or  future 
eminence,  —  for,  he  said,  if  he  lived 
a  few  years  more  he  expected  to  see 
Adrian  with  a  national  reputation. 
Then  he  came  back  once  more  to 
Adrian's  unaccountable  idea,  as  it 
appeared  to  him,  of  Mr.  Stanley's 
being  sceptical  of  any  gains  to  accrue 
to  the  members  of  the  Scrope  Asso- 
ciation, from  their  English  inherit- 
ance. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Stanley, 
suddenly,  "the  value  of  all  these 
estates  in  England,  and  the  value  of 
all  the  real  estate  in  England.  Mr. 
Welles  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  old  man,  puzzled. 

"  Well,  I  had  the  curiosity  to  get 
together  the  figures,"  rejoined  Mr. 
Stanley.  "  I  found  that  all  together, 
Chase  Estate,  Townley  Estate,  Jen- 
nings Estate,  Brown,  Smith,  Burnham, 
and  so  on,  —  all  together,  those  that  I 
know  of,  amount  to  so  much,  that  if 
you  sell  every  foot  of  ground  in  Eng- 
land to-day,  and  get  the  appraised 
value  for  it,  —  and  that  would  be  the 
best  forced  sale  ever  made  yet,  — 
even  then  you  will  be  between  six 
and  seven  million  pounds  sterling 
short    of    the    amount    claimed    by 


192 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


American  heirs  alone,  not  to  mention 
such  as  may  turn  up  in  Australia  !  " 

Poor  old  Mr.  Welles  gazed  at  the 
speaker  with  a  most  rueful  expression. 
Stanley  went  on : 

"Then,  what  do  we  know  about 
this  Scrope  ?  He  brought  decent 
enough  letters,  no  doubt.  He  has  a 
right  to  his  name  :  he  is  our  kins- 
man. But  is  he  competent  to  man- 
age so  weighty  an  undertaking? 
We  can't  control  him,  nor  help  him, 
at  three  thousand  miles  off.  And 
if  he  lays  hold  on  several  million 
dollars,  who  knows  whether  he  will 
render  a  just  account  ?  You  must 
remember,  he  comes  from  the  royalist 
branch,  not  the  Puritan  !  —  I  don't 
mean  that  the  cavaliers  were  dis- 
honest. But  they  were  thriftless, 
improvident,  and  unsuccessful,  cer- 
tainly." 

"  But  why  didn't  you  argue  this 
way  at  the  meeting,  Mr.  Stanley  ?  " 
asked  poor  old  Mr.  Welles. 

"  Could  I  do  more  than  I  did,  Mr. 
Welles  ?  " 

"  —  No,  I  don't  see  that  you  could  ; 
but  in  that  event,  why  did  you  sub- 
scribe ?  " 

"  Yes,"  added  Adrian  :  "  I  should 
like  to  know  that,  too." 

"  Well,"  said  Stanley,  with  an 
icier  smile  than  ever,  — "  I'll  tell 
you.  I  didn't  mind  letting  our  good 
friend  Mr.  Button  carry  on  the  en- 
terprise, if  he  wanted  to  —  as  you 
see  he  did.  I  thought  if  I  put  down 
a  little,  it  would  encourage  him  — 
and  it  did.  Now,  gentlemen,  honor 
bright  !  Don't  you  repeat  it :  I 
have  told  you  in  strict  confidence.  — 
And  now,  Mr.  Welles,  why  did  you 
subscribe  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  the  old  man,  with  an 
uneasy  half-laugh,  —  "  to  make  some 
money.  And  to  set  up  the  family 
connection.      And    I    thought    very 


likely  that  in  the  course  of  the  inves- 
tigations those  lost  books  might  turn 
up  somewhere." 

"Yes,"  said  Adrian  :  "I  remember 
Scrope  said  one  day  while  we  were 
talking  that  he  felt  very  sure  those 
books  had  either  never  come  from 
England  at  all,  in  spite  of  the  Scrope 
will,  or  had  been  shipped  back  there. 
He  said  he  had  an  old  chest  himself 
that  he  was  sure  was  the  Scrope 
Chest"  — 

"  Pshaw  !  "  interrupted  Stanley,  — 
"  we  know  that  the  Scrope  Chest 
was  in  Thomas  Hooker's  old  house  at 
the  foot  of  Prospect  Street  in  Hart- 
ford as  late  as  the  year  1790  —  might 
be  there  this  very  moment,  if  the 
house  hadn't  been  a  tenement-house 
this  thirty  years.     And  "  — 

He  interrupted  himself;  for  he 
had  already  gone  much  farther  than 
was  usual  with  him  in  the  way  of 
communicating  information.  Then 
he  added,  —  "  And  you,  Mr.  Ches- 
ter,—  what  made  you  subscribe?" 

"Pretty  nearly  Mr.  Welles's  mo- 
/tives;  —  though  I  took  it  for  granted 
that  you  and  he  together  had  found 
out  all  about  the  Scrope  Chest  and 
its  contents  long  ago.  Indeed,  it 
wouldn't  surprise  me,  Mr.  Stanley, 
to  learn  that  you  had  picked  up  full 
half  of  the  Lost  Library,  book  by 
book,  and  had  them  on  your  shelves 
at  this  moment,  every  one  with 
"Adrian  Scroope"  written  on  the 
fly-leaf.     Have  you  ?  " 

Stanley  shook  his  head,  and  looked 
rather  annoyed.  "  I  believe  you 
have  the  only  known  autograph  of 
Adrian  Scroope  of  Hartford  "  he  re- 
plied, "  except  that  in  the  archives  at 
the  State  House." 

"For  my  part,"  said  Mr.  Welles, 
"  I  don't  believe  that  even  the  glory 
of  adding  to  such  a  collection  as  Mr. 
Stanley's  would  tempt  me  to  part  with 


Scrope 


or, 


The  Lost  Library. 


193 


such  a  book  if  I  ever  found  it.  Ah, 
how  many,  many  thousands  of  volumes 
and  hundreds  of  tons  of  trash  I  have 
handled  and  scrutinized  and  sifted  in 
hope  of  coming  on  some  of  those 
books ! " 

"  You  must  have  found  a  great  many 
curious  things,"  said  Adrian,  who  had 
seen  Mr.  Welles'sown  collection,  a  won- 
drous mass  of  items,  bearing  somewhat 
such  a  relation  to  a  library,  as  a  pile  of 
"  scrap  tin  "  in  a  ditch  does  to  coined 
gold. 

"  Ah,  indeed  I  have,"  said  the  old 
man,  —  "you  have  seen  my  books 
yourself;  but  the  best  of  them"  — 

A  glance  from  Mr.  Stanley  stopped 
him.  That  astute  gentleman  had  no 
wish  that  the  old  foreman  should  speci- 
fy the  rarities  which  he  had  furnished 
to  the  well  known  Stanley  Collection 
during  the  last  twenty  years,  at  prices 
which  the  old  man  himself  thought 
handsome,  but  which  would  have  made 
Andrew  Purvis  perfectly  crazy. 

"  Well,"  Mr.  Welles  began  again  — 
"  I  only  wish  I  could  fill  some  of  my 
broken  sets.  Now  I've  got  some  curi- 
ous French  odd  volumes.  I  can't  read 
them,  but  I  can  pick  out  the  meaning 
of  some  of  the  words.  There's  torn  one 
of  Mister  Poiteevin  Peetavy  on  the 
jewks  florawks  dee  Towlowz."  — 

As  he  innocently  recited  this  fine 
specimen  of  Connecticut  French,  look- 
ing down  in  the  careful  solicitude  of 
his  recollection,  Mr.  Stanley,  catching 
Adrian's  eye,  winked,  but  with  a  per- 
fectly grave  and  steady  countenance. 
Adrian  almost  laughed,  but  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  cruel  unkindness  that 
a  laugh  would  be  to  the  good  old  fellow 
overpowered  even  the  extreme  funni- 
ness  of  the  recital,  and  with  one  spas- 
modic repression,  he  remained  as  im- 
passive, in  appearance,  as  the  sar- 
donic Stanley.  The  old  man  went 
on  with  quite  a  list  of  his  treasures. 


Some  of  the  titles  he  recited  were 
almost  as  valuable,  philologically,  as 
that  about  the  floral  games,  and  as  he 
mentioned  them,  the  wicked  Mr.  Stan- 
ley more  than  once  darted  at  Adrian 
another  composed,  but  discomposing 
look  of  cold  keen  fun.  Truly,  there 
is  something  very  ludicrous  in  the 
grotesque  results  produced  on  either 
English  or  foreign  words,  by  thought- 
ful accurate  reading  people  who  have 
never  heard  them  pronounced,  and  who 
honestly  do  the  best  they  can  on  gen- 
eral principles.  But  Adrian,  keen  as 
was  his  sense  of  the  funny,  was  still 
more  sensitive  as  to  kindness  or  un- 
kindness. It  dawned  upon  him  that 
Stanley  must  have  in  some  sort  helped: 
on  the  old  man  in  this  line  of  vocaliz- 
ing—  as  was  indeed  the  fact  — for 
his  own  amusement ;  and  it  affected 
him  painfully,  as  being  a  piece  of  cold 
sarcastic  selfishness.  And  he  had  hard- 
ly any  further  impulse  to  laugh,  even 
when  Mr.  Stanley  was  so  good  as  to 
lead  up  himself  to  a  particularly  good 
point,  when  Mr.  Welles  was  speaking 
of  a  suggestion  of  his  about  certain  old 
papers :  — 

"  That's  one  of  your  bright  thoughts, 
Mr.  Welles,"  said  he;  "one  of  your 
March  notions,  isn't  it  ?  You  see, 
Chester,  Mr.  Welles  is  a  Shakspearian 
student  too." 

Adrian  was  puzzled,  but  said,  what 
is  very  true,  —  that  he  had  no  doubt 
a  sensible  Yankee  might  know  of  his 
own  knowledge  a  good  many  things 
about  old  English,  that  neither  cock- 
ney nor  provincial  in  England  could 
very  well  understand. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man  ;  "  you  see, 
Mr.  Chester,  it  occurred  to  me  that 
there's  a  plain  meaning  to  a  passage 
in  Julius  Caesar,  '  Beware  the  idees 
of  March,'  it  says.  Now,  why  didn't 
that  old  prophet  fellow  mean  simply 
that  folkses  minds  are  more  active  in 


194 


Scropc ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


the  Spring,  just  as  all  the  rest  of  the 
world  is,  and  that  Caesar  had  better 
look  out,  in  consequence  ?  I  don't 
see  why  a  common  sense  notion  of 
that  sort  ain't  as  good  as  any  other  ?  " 

"Yes,"  corroborated  Mr.  Stanley. 
"Now  I  think  that  very  suggestion 
is  one  of  the  idees  of  March.  Don't 
you,  Chester  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Adrian,  who  had  to 
say  something,  "  I'll  tell  you  what  'tis, 
Mr.  Welles  :  I  can't  offer  to  take  finan- 
cial obligations  off  your  hands,  as  Mr. 
Stanley  has  done ;  but  if  you  ever 
publish  an  edition  of  Shakspeare,  I'll 
subscribe  for  a  copy." 

They  talked  a  good  while  longer  — 
indeed,  most  of  the  way  to  New 
Haven,  in  a  rambling  discursive 
way,  on  topics  of  antiquarian  and 
modern  literature,  family  genealogy, 
and  so  forth.  Stanley  and  Welles 
had  nothing  better  to  do,  and  Adrian 
was  sensible  enough  to  prefer  any  oc- 
cupation to  meditating  on  discomforts 
of  his  own  for  which  there  was  no  pres- 
ent help.  But  the  effort  of  repression, 
and  the  effort  of  taking  an  interest  in 
the  conversation,  grew  very  burden- 
some ;  and  at  New  Haven,  instead  of 
taking  the  cars  with  his  companions, 
he  made  an  excuse  and  stopped  over 
night  at  a  hotel. 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

On  the  north  side  of  State  Street, 
ar.d  of  the  State  House  Square,  which 
square  is  a  three-cornered  area  in  the 
middle  of  the  ancient  city  of  Hart- 
ford, there  stood,  on  the  forenoon  after 
Adrian  Chester's  conversation  with 
Mr.  Stanley  and  Mr.  Welles,  a  house. 
It  was  of  wood,  roomy,  old,  white,  low 
"between  joints,"  with  a  hipped  roof, 
and  a  large  front  door  painted  dark 
green  with  old  hard  paint  that  had 
shrunk  into  little  square  sections.  This 


door  was  built  in  ha.  res,  an  upper  and 
a  lower,  bolting  together  when  re- 
quired on  the  inside.  It  had  more- 
over a  great  bright  brass  knocker  in 
the  middle  of  the  upper  half,  and  the 
door  itself  was  in  the  middle  of  the 
front  of  the  house  —  half  way  between 
eaves  and  underpinning,  as  well  as 
between  end  and  end.  And  by  way 
of  access,  a  long"  steep  flight  of 
narrow  freestone  steps  was  laid  up 
against  the  side  of  the  house,  like  a 
vast  nose  that  had  been  quite  smashed 
down  to  one  side  upon  a  face.  One 
iron  rail  at  the  outside  prevented  this 
tremendous  ascent  from  being  almost 
as  terrible  as  the  mysterious  steps  up 
which  the  neophyte  scrambled  in  the 
dark  in  Moore's  imaginative  little  story 
of  "  The  Epicurean,"  every  step,  as  he 
lifted  his  foot  from  it,  falling  down 
slop !  into  unseen  water  far  below. 
The  substance  of  the  front  steps  of 
this  goodly  old  mansion  dated  back 
to  the  Old  Red  Sandstone  period, — 
any  number  of  years  you  like,  as  a  few 
millions  are  of  small  account  in  such 
matters.  Its  woodwork  dated  back 
some  three  or  four  centuries  only  ;  as 
within  that  period  probably  sprouted 
the  acorns  whence  grew  the  straight 
white  oaks  that  furnished  its  square 
and  massive  timbers.  The  odd  ar- 
rangement of  its  front  was  of  not 
more  than  fifty  years'  age  or  so  ;  it 
was  at  that  time,  or  not  far  from  it, 
that  a  high  bank  of  earth,  previously 
bordering  the  street,  was  cut  away 
from  under  the  houses.  These  were 
shored  up  and  built  under,  instead  of 
being  let  down,  and  thus  for  once  it 
happened  that  some  houses  had  their 
chimneys  and  upper  floors  built  and 
finished  before  the  lower  floors  and 
foundations.  The  lower  floor  of  thi3 
particular  house  was  put  to  the  lower 
uses  of  trade,  and  thus  served  very 
nicely  to  maintain  by  the  vulgar  but 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


195 


increasing  revenue  of  business,  the 
old  fashioned  aristocracy  that  staid 
up-stairs  and  grew  poor.  And  lastly ; 
to  a  period  somewhat  more  distant 
than  the  era  of  the  rebuilding,  yet  a 
good  ways  this  side  of  the  era  of  the 
acorns,  there  dated  back  the  lady  of 
this  house. 

A  n  Aunt  is  not  to  be  found  on  every 
bush.  The  ignorant  may  perhaps 
suppose  that  the  quality  of  Auntness 
inheres  in  every  sister  of  a  parent. 
In  form,  possibly ;  but  in  substance, 
not  necessarily  by  any  means.  An 
Aunt  is  a  being  who  can  only  exist  for 
children.  Grown  persons  cannot  (un- 
less they  are  childlike)  have  real 
Aunts.  For  those  who  can,  the  Aunt 
is  a  delightful  personage  who  has  all 
the  merits  of  a  mother,  but  in  a  more 
exalted  degree,  and  none  of  those 
defects  of  harshness,  discipline,  inflic- 
tion, peremptoriness,  and  the  like, 
that  so  often  and  sadly  mar  the 
natural  sweetness  of  the  filio-parental 
relation.  The  Aunt,  you  see,  can 
permit,  but  cannot  forbid.  She  is  a 
beatified  mother.  And  any  person 
claiming  to  be  an  Aunt,  and  falling 
short  of  these  attainments,  is  an  im- 
postor. 

It  was  Adrian's  not  only  Aunt,  but 
his  Great- Aunt  —  his  grandfather's 
sister, — who  was  upon  the  morning 
in  question  trotting  nimbly  to  and  fro 
in  this  old  house.  She  was  a  thin, 
straight,  active  little  old  lady,  with 
eyes  that  notwithstanding  her  age 
were  black,  quick,  bright  and  snap- 
ping. Adrian's  father  and  mother, 
both  well  and  strong,  were  seized  with 
a  fever  when  he  was  a  little  baby, 
and  instead  of  living  to  be  old  as 
their  kin  usually  did  —  for  they  were 
botli  of  long-lived  families  —  they 
took  divers  quantities  of  calomel,  and 
lost  divers  quantities  of  blood  — 
"  which    is    the  life,"  God  Almighty 


says  —  under  the  heroic  treatment  of 
an  old  fashioned  doctor  of  the  day, 
and  so  they  died.  The  Aunt  afore- 
said,—  Mr.  Chester's  aunt,  who  had 
a  tiny  income  of  her  own ;  about  a 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  year, 
secured  on  this  very  house  and  land, 
was  living  in  her  nephew's  house,  in 
her  professional  capacity  of  Aunt, 
when  he  was  taken  ill.  She  watched 
over  him  along  with  his  young  wife  : 
after  he  died,  and  the  widow  was 
taken  ill,  she  took  care  of  her  too. 
She  promised  the  poor  young  mother 
to  take  care  of  the  baby,  and  she  did 
it.  She  cared  nothing  about  men, 
she  always  said;  at  any  rate  she 
never  married,  and  seemed  always 
perfectly  satisfied  with  her  stated 
work  as  a  Tract  Visitor,  her  weekly 
Sunday  school  class,  her  housekeep- 
ing, her  small  circle  of  friends  and 
her  reading.  With  occasional  misad- 
ventures and  losses,  she  had  fought 
one  unbroken  campaign  against  specu- 
lators, selectmen,  city  goverment,  and 
mankind  in  general  from  that  day 
forward,  to  maintain  her  garrison  in 
that  old  ancestral- house.  Sometimes 
people  wanted  to  buy  it  to  pull  down 
and  rebuild;  sometimes  there  was  a 
plan  to  cut  a  new  street  through ; 
sometimes  wise  friends  exhorted  her 
to  lease  it  and  go  and  board  some- 
where. No.  It  was  Adrian's  home 
and  hers,  and  she  would  stay  in  it  as 
long  as  she  lived.  Taxes  and  ex- 
penses grew  heavier  and  heavier;  her 
little  income  remained  a  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars;  but  the  valiant  old  lady 
managed  and  fought  it  through,  get- 
ting an  important  contribudon  of 
course  from  the  rent  of  the  two  stores 
on  the  ground  floor.  She  had  brought 
up  her  grandnephew  on  the  best  old 
fashioned  Connecticut  principles;  had 
secured  him  a  good  education,  got 
him  fitted  for  college,  and  would  have 


196 


Scrope  ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


sent  him  thither,  but  he  preferred  try- 
ing a  clerkship,  which  he  afterwards 
left  for  the  post  of  assistant  librarian 
at  the  Young  Men's  Institute,  for 
the  sufficient  reason  that  he  found  he 
liked  giving  out  books  better  than 
kee{  ing  them. 

Miss  Chester  had,  no  doubt,  some 
peculiarities:  it  is  hardly  possible  for 
a  person  of  energetic  character,  who 
lives  a  life  at  once  active  and  solitary, 
to  avoid  becoming  peculiar  ;  but  thus 

Pee,   pee  pee  pee,    pee  pee  pee,    pee  pee 

She  had  got  through  all  the  dishes 
and  done  almost  all  the  dusting,  and 
was  now  setting  in  order  the  non- 
literary  items  of  Adrian's  own  room 
—  for  she  had  attained  to  that  rare 
and  almost  incredible  state  of  grace 
and  wisdom  which  enabled  her  to  let 
the  young  man's  books  and  papers 
entirely  alone  —  when  the  bell  rang, 
and  the  small  servant-girl  who  com- 
prised in  her  brief  person  the  whole 
menial  train  of  the  establishment, 
having  answered  the  bell,  announced 
a  gentleman  in  the  parlor  to  see  Miss 
Chester.  So,  laying  aside  her  dust- 
cloth,  the  old  lady  trotted  down  stairs, 
doubting  in  her  own  mind  who  this 
might  be;  but  as  most  of  the  "  gentle- 
men "  who  called  to  see  her  for  the 
last  twenty  years  had  done  so  to  de- 
mand money  or  to  try  to  get  away 
her  home  from  her,  she  reasoned  that 
here  was  probably  another  attack,  and 
entered  the  old-fashioned  parlor  all 
ready  for  the  combat.  But  she  did 
not  expect  the  fearful  experience  that 
awaited  her. 

A  small  man  stood  in  the  farther 
corner  of  the  room,  his  back  towards 
her,  intently  studying  the  antique 
closet  or  "  bo-fat,"  as  Miss  Chester 
called  it,  which  was  built  across  one 


far,  they  only  rendered  her  more 
piquant  and  agreeable ;  for  she  had 
too  much  strong  sense  and  good 
judgment  to  become  actually  "queer." 
She  was,  as  usual  while  employed 
about  her  household  duties,  singing 
—  or  rather  vocalizing,  after  her  inva- 
riable habit,  with  a  rather  tremulous 
and  thin  but  still  sweet  voice,  to  the 
tune  of  "  Long,  long  ago,"  and  using 
instead  of  the  monosyllable  "  ah," 
the  monosyllable  "  pee/'  —  thus  : 


pee,        Pee    pee  pee  pee,         pee    pee  pee  pee, 

corner  of  the  room,  and  through  whose 
glass  door  might  be  dimly  seen  a  tea- 
set,  and  certain  other  articles,  all  of 
real  old  china,  the  pride  of  their  own- 
er's heart.  As  she  entered,  the  gen- 
tleman turned  round  and  made  her  a 
polite  bow: 

"  Miss  Chester,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  couldn't  help  admiring  this  cu- 
rious old  cupboard,  madam.  Such  a 
fine  old  house,  too,"  he  went  on,  look- 
ing at  the  heavy  beam  that  crossed 
the  room  under  the  middle  of  the  low 
ceiling.  "  Just  like  my  grandfather's 
old  home  where  I  was  brought  up." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  said  the  old  lady,  un- 
expectedly pleased.  .  .  . 

[Intermission  of  one  hour.'] 

Adrian  Chester  had  come  from  New 
Haven  by  an  early  morning  train,  and 
had  occupied  himself  on  the  road  by 
examining  a  document  which  he  had 
been  carrying  in  his  pocket  for  a  few 
days,  being  no  other  than  the  code  of 
instructions  to  canvassers,  of  which 
Mr.  Button  had  a  few  days  before 
given  him  a  copy,  at  giving  one  to 
Mr.  Jacox.  It  was  a  very  curious 
document,  filling  both  sides  of  a  large 
sheet  of  paper  in  a  close  type,  and 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


197 


containing  nearly  six  thousand  words, 
equal  to  twelve  or  fifteen  duodecimo 
pages.  It  consisted  of  a  caption  in  a 
bold  clear  letter,  and  just  forty  differ- 
ent propositions.  The  caption  con- 
sisted of  pithy  maxims  like  the  fol- 
lowing : 

g^~  Commit  this  to  memory  word  for 
word.  Hold  the  Book  you  are  selling 
in  your  own  Hands.  Don't  let  the  cus- 
tomer take  it  unless  necessary.  Don't 
merely  say  you  have  got  it  and  talk 
about  it,  but  show  it.  Don't  ask  the 
customer  to  buy  it,  except  as  the  very  last 
resort;  but  show  it  and  describe  it  until 
he  says,  "  I  will  take  one."  Don't  tell 
what  it  costs  until  he  wants  the  book. 
When  he  is  ready,  hand  him  the  Order 
Book  and  pencil,  and  he  will  see  the 
price  extended  opposite  the  names  al- 
ready in.  Remember,  you  must  make 
the  customer  want  the  book,  before  you 
try  to  sell  it.  He  would  not  buy  coined 
gold  if  he  did  not  want  it.  Begin  talk- 
ing as  follows: 

Here  followed  the  items  of  this 
Catechism,  laid  off  with  shrewd  sense 
in  short  paragraphs,  numbered  in  order, 
being  an  elaborate  exposition  of  the 
merits  of  the  book.     For  instance  : 


I.  I  have  here,  Mr. ,  the  best  book 

ever  printed  except  the  Holy  Bible,  and 
one  that  every  one  is  pleased  with.  This 
may  seem  extravagant;  but  seeing,  you 
know,  is  believing,  and  here  is  the  book. 
[Bead  the  title  on  the  back,  carefully  and 
distinctly]  "  A  New  and  Complete  His- 
tory of  the  Bible,  by  the  Eeverend 
Hocum  Hotcbkin,  D.D."  Or,  as  the  gilt 
stamp  on  the  side  of  the  cover  says  [read 
the  side  lettering  carefully],  "The  Holy 
Bible,  its  History,  Work,  and  Influ- 
ence." [Now  open  to  the  title-page  and 
read  it ;  then  open  to  the  Introduction,  and 
remark,  looking  your  customer  squarely  in 
the  face,] 

II.  The  Bible  itself  authorizes  us  to  be- 
lieve that  many  persons  even  of  intelli- 
gence cannot  fully  understand  what  they 
read  in  it,  unless  some  man  should  guide 
them.  See  Acts  viii.  30, 31.  This  is  what 
the  Reverend  Hocum  Hotcbkin,  D.D.,  says 
in  beginning  his  Introduction  to  this  great 
work.    The  very  Table  of  Contents  [turn 


to  it]  will  convince  you  how  necessary  this 
History  is,  in  order  to  understand  the  Word 
of  God.  [Bead  fifteen  or  twenty  of  the  first 
items  in  the  Table  of  Contents.] 

And  so  on ;  a  shrewd,  practical 
discourse,  adapted  with  comical  skill 
to  the  character  of  a  serious,  Bible- 
reading  and  meeting-going  public. 
And  Adrian,  in  order  to  experiment 
upon  his  own  abilities  in  the  practical 
details  of  the  business  to  which  he  had 
come  so  near  devoting  his  life,  set  to 
work  with  a  hearty  good  will  to  master 
this  composition;  and  having  what 
actors  call  "  a  quick  study,"  by  the 
time  he  reached  Hartford  he  felt  so 
well  prepared  that  he  thought  he  could 
even  sell  his  own  dear  great-aunt  a 
copy  of  the  History  of  the  Bible,  if  he 
had  it,  notwithstanding  the  furious 
and  implacable  hatred  which  as  he 
well  knew  she  bore  to  the  whole  race 
of  canvassers,  —  a  hatred  far  beyond 
her  sufficiently  energetic  hostility  to 
mere  tax-gatherers  and  house-hunters, 
who,  vile  and  noxious  as  they  are,  can 
be  considered  human  beings. 

Walking  up  Asylum  Street  from 
the  station,  valise  in  hand,  Adrian 
calmly  and  unsuspectingly  ascended 
the  steep  old  freestone  steps,  entered 
the  house,  laid  off  his  overcoat  and 
hat,  and  hearing  a  voice  in  the  parlor, 
he  went  in.  What  a  spectacle  !  Can 
any  thing  be  more  frightful  than  to 
find  one  of  our  most  beloved  ones, 
without  warning  or  expectation,  smit- 
ten by  a  cruel  calamity  ?  Especially 
if  we  come  suddenly  upon  the  height 
and  paroxysm  of  the  agony. 

As  he  softly  entered  the  room,  his 
poor  old  aunt,  almost  exhausted,  was 
pushing  from  her  with  a  feeble  hand 
an  open  book  and  pencil,  which  were 
held  out  to  her  by  a  little  man  who 
sat  opposite  her  by  the  table. 

"  Oh  dear,  dear,"  she  said,  or  rather 
sighed,  in  a  faint  and  weary  voice,  — 


198 


JSc?~ope :  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


"  I  don't  want  a  History  of  the  Bible 
any  more  than  a  hoptoad  wants  a  fine- 
tooth  comb.  I  can  say  more  than 
half  of  it  by  heart  already." 

"  You  are  aware,"  said  the  little 
man  in  a  glib  peremptory  tone, 
"that  it  is  one  thing  to  read  a  book, 
and  quite  another  so  to  read  it  as  to 
understand  its  contents  and  thoughts 
and  make  them  our  own  "  — 

Here  Adrian,  who  recognized  in 
these  words  No.  xxxv.  of  Mr.  Button's 
code,  interrupted,  while  his  aunt  gave 
a  jump  and  a  cry  at  the  sound  of  his 
voice.  He  took  the  very  words  out 
of  the  little  man's  mouth,  and  pro- 
ceeded with  a  majestic  and  stately 
delivery ;  — 

"  Yes  ;  and  this  is  pre-eminently 
true  with  reference  to  the  Book  of 
Books.  The  Bible  may  be  read  daily 
and  even  thoroughly,  so  far  as  the 
letter,  the  verses,  the  chapters,  and 
the  books,  are  concerned,  and  yet  com- 
paratively little  may  be  acquired  or 
apprehended  of  the  great  truths  which 
it  teaches,  or  of  the  grand  and  various 
topics  which  are  unfolded  in  its  sacred 
pages.  Number  three  exes,  vee,  i. 
Not  a  few  individuals  have  read  the 
Bible  through  and  through  repeatedly, 
and  yet  have  wondered  that  they 
could  retain  so  little  of  its  teachings, 
and  had  such  an  indistinct  impression 
or  knowledge  of  its  varied  topics  of 
discourse,  Mr.  Jacox  !  " 

Miss  Chester  looked  perfectly 
stuuned.  As  for  Jacox,  for  it  was  he, 
he  looked  a  hundred  times  more  as- 
tounded—  if  such  a  thing  be  possible 
—  than  she  at  seeing  this  interloper 
thus  proceed  to  steal  and  fire  off  his 
own  thunder,  and  with  the  obvious 
effect  of  re-assuring  the  almost  sur- 
rendered victim.  For  the  old  lad}' 
had  fought  a  good  fight,  but  she  was 
too  much  of  a  lady  to  be  absolutely 
rude   to   her   assailant,  and  unfortu- 


nately for  herself,  she  was  too  much 
of  a  woman  not  to  talk  with  him.  Un- 
der such  circumstances,  the  business 
could  have  but  one  termination.  A 
book  agent  spares  neither  age  nor  sex. 
He  would  assuredly  have  had  her 
name  in  his  little  book  in  two  minutes 
more,  if  Adrian  had  not  appeared. 

"  Oh  Adrian,"  said  the  dear  old 
lady,  "  I'm  so  glad  you  came !  But 
for  goodness  sake  what's  the  meaning 
of  all  that  lingo?" 

"  Mr.  Jacox  would  have  said  it  to 
you  if  I  hadn't  —  hay,  Mr.  Jacox?" 

The  canvasser  looked  pretty  angry. 

"  Come,"  said  Adrian,  "  how  do  you 
know  but  I  can  be  of  some  use  to  you 
after  all  ?  Mr.  Button  gave  me  a 
copy  of  those  directions,  when  he  gave 
you  yours.  Don't  you  remember  ? 
I  committed  every  word  of  them  to 
memory  this  very  morning.  And  how 
do  you  know  but  I  wanted  to  sell  a 
copy  of  the  History  of  the  Bible  to 
my  aunt  here  ?  Won't  you  let  me 
supply  my  own  family  ?  " 

Jacox  made  a  great  effort,  and  with 
the  aid  of  his  recollection  of  Adrian's 
presence  in  Mr.  Button's  office,  man- 
aged to  look  at  the  situation  somewhat 
like  the  joke  which  it  was.  Adrian, 
who  was  well  pleased  at  the  success 
of  his  little  extempore  scene,  put  him 
into  perfectly  good  humor  by  volun- 
teering himself  to  take  the  copy  of 
the  History  of  the  Bible  which  was 
to  have  been  the  property  of  Miss 
Chester,  and  wrote  his  name  in  place 
of  hers  in  Mr.  Jacox's  little  book. 

"  You  mustn't  think  too  hard  of 
me,"  said  the  little  agent,  as  he  pre- 
pared to  go;  "I  thought  I'd  lost  my 
hour's  hard  work.  Much  obliged  to 
you,  sir.  I  like  a  joke  as  well  as  any- 
body, if  it  don't  cost  me  too  much. 
But  I  must  say  the  Button  connection 
is  pretty  near  too  much  for  me. 
There's  two  cousins  of  his  came  pretty 


Scrope  ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


199 


near  spoiling  a  good  suit  of  clothes 
for  rue  this  morning." 

"Cousins  of  Mr.  Button's?"  said 
Adrian. 

"  Little  hip-roofed  brick  house  out 
on  the  Newington  road,"  said  the 
agent. 

"  Why,  it's  Deeiny  and  Dosy  Tid- 
ball !  "  said  Miss  Chester.  "  What  on 
earth  made  you  try  to  sell  them  a 
book  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  can't  never  say  where 
you  mayn't  find  a  customer,"  said  Mr. 
Jacox.  "  And  they  sell  books,  if  they 
don't  buy  'em." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Adrian. 

"Why,  I  came  by  there  this  morn- 
ing, and  saw 'em  just  taking  their  pay 
of  a  rag  peddler  for  two  or  three  barrels 
of  old  papers  and  books  and  things. 
I  went  to  work  to  get  hold  of  the 
cash  myself,  and  spent  pretty  nigh  an 
hour  at  it,  but  when  they  found  out 
'twas  a  book  of  Mr.  Button's  I  had,  one 
of  'em  said  they  were  cousins  of  his 
and  he  would  give  'em  one,  and  the 
other,  she  said  he  was  too  proud  to  re- 
cognize 'em  and  too  stingy  to  give  'em 
any  thing,  and  then  the  first  one  said 
if  I  didn't  leave  she'd  heave  the  swill 
at  me  ;  and  that  would  have  spoiled  my 
clothes  ;  and  then  I  was  just  leaving, 
when  Stanley  of  East  Hartford  drove 
up  —  I  knew  about  him  when  I  was  to 
work  for  Noyes  &  Skittery  round  here. 
I  like  to  know  what's  going  on  when 
I  can  just  as  well,  so  I  went  kinder 
slow,  and  I  had  some  satisfaction  out 
of  those  old  Miss  Tidballs,  anyhow  !  " 

"  How  was  that  ?  "  asked  Adrian. 

"  Well,  Stanley  he  was  in  a  great 
hurry,  he  said,  for  he'd  got  to  drive 
out  to  ISTewington  Centre  and  look 
at  some  papers  and  things  of  the 
Keverend  Mr.  Brace,  I  believe,  that 
used  to  be  settled  there  :  but  he  just 
stopped  to  ask  if  they  hadn't  some  old 
papers  in  the  house.     Said  he'd  just 


heard  old  Mrs.  Goodin  say  'twas 
very  likely,  and  he'd  give  'em  a  good 
price  for  'em.  Then  one  of  the  old 
ladies  —  the  tall  thin  one,  she  said 
they'd  had  a  lot  of  trash  that  belonged 
to  old  Clerk  Tidball  ever  so  many 
years  ago,  but  they'd  sold  it  to  a  rag 
man  that  very  morning  for  two  dollars 
and  a  half.  Then  Stanley  he  looked 
as  if  he'd  have  a  fit  —  he  was  the 
maddest  man  !  But  he  held  in,  and 
he  took  out  some  money,  and  jest  said, 
sorter  quiet  like,  says  he,  '  Well,  Miss 
Tidball,  do  you  see  those  ten  ten 
dollar  bills?  I'd  have  been  glad  to 
give  you  those  for  that  trash,  as  you 
call  it.  One  hundred  dollars,  ma'am. 
That's  all,  ma'am!'  And  he  hopped 
into  his  sleigh  and  went  off  to  Newing- 
ton;  and  if  them  two  old  ladies  didn't 
give  it  to  each  other  !  '  There,  Deemy 
Tidball,'  says  the  fat  stumpy  one  —  '  I 
always  thought  you  was  a  fool,  and 
now  I  know  it.'  —  '  Well,'  says  the  tall 
one,  '  you  Dosy  Tidball,  don't  you  tell 
me !  You've  been  at  me  to  sell  those 
old  things  this  two  years,  and  now  I've 
done  as  you  said  you  call  me  a  fool  ? 
Well,  I  was,  for  doin'  as  you  said, 
and  always  would  be  as  often  as  I  did.' 
They  really  screeched  and  hollered 
at  each  other  so  that  I  was  kinder 
ashamed,  and  I  came  along  into  the 
city." 

"  Poor  girls  !  "  said  Miss  Chester. 
"  I  don't  wonder  they  felt  bad  !  And 
I  remember  them  such  bright  pretty 
young  things  !  I  must  go  out  and 
see  them." 

"  But  I  should  like  to  know,"  said 
Adrian  eagerly,  "what  became  of 
that  rag  peddler  !  " 

"  He  came  to  the  city,"  said  Jacox, 
"  and  he  was  loaded  cram  full ;  so  he's 
gone  and  sold  out  somewhere." 

"What  do  you  want  of  him?" 
said  Miss  Chester. 

"  Why,  aunty,  don't  you  know  old 


200 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


Clerk  Tidball  was  supposed  to  have  a 
lot  of  very  valuable  old  documents  in 
bis  bands  ?  We've  always  expected 
we  might  find  some  Scrope  facts  if  we 
could  get  at  them.  It's  only  a  little 
while  ago  that  these  two  old  ladies 
got  the  Tidball  tilings, — they'd  been 
out  in  Pennsylvania  somewhere,  no- 
body could  fiud  out  where.  And  the 
Tidballs  were  so  touchy  and  spiteful 
and  suspicious,  nobody  could  do  any 
thing  with  them.  I  wonder  they 
didn't  throw  the  swill  on  Mr.  Jacox 
without  notice  instead  of  threatening 
it." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Jacox, 
who  seemed  inclined  to  do  Adrian  a 
good  turn  in  exchange  for  his  sub- 
scription, "  I  know  what  I'd  do  if  I 
were  you.  I'd  go  straight  over  to  the 
old  Barnard  Paper  Mill  in  Manches- 
ter. All  the  rag  peddlers  know  that 
their  best  chance  for  old  books  and 
such  kind  of  stock  is  to  take  'em 
right  there. .  Old  foreman  Welles'll 
pay  double  prices,  very  often,  for 
such  things,  and  then  they  save  the 
profit  of  the  dealers  here  in  the  city 
too.  And  I'd  go  right  away.  Stan- 
ley'll  be  out  there  this  afternoon  as 
sure  as  death.     I  know  him." 

"  So  he  will,"  said  Adrian.  "  I  must 
try  the  dealers,  though,  and  then  I'll 
go  over.  There's  only  two  of  them, 
and  they'll  tell  me.  I'm  much  obliged 
to  you,  Mr.  Jacox.  When  the  book's 
ready,  we'll  take  it  with  pleasure." 

And  hastily  resuming  his  outer 
garments,  he  left  the  house  with  Mr. 
Jacox,  his  aunt  in  vain  recommend- 
ing him  to  wait  till  after  dinner. 
He  flew  to  the  cellars  occupied  by  the 
two  paper-stock  dealers,  but  found 
that  no  goods  had  been  sold  to  them 
that  morning.  And  moreover,  one 
of  them,  whose  establishment  was 
near  the  Great  Bridge,  informed  him 
that  he  had  seen  David  Hertelchick 


the  rag  peddler,  drive  over  the  bridge 
eastward  with  a  heavy  load. 

This  was  enough,  and  Adrian  darted 
round  to  a  livery  stable,  which  he 
occasionally  patronized.  It  was  a 
warm  bright  day,  the  snow  was  melt- 
ing, and  everybody  was  making  the 
most  of  the  sleighing ;  there  was  not 
a  runner  left  in  the  establishment. 

"  Confound  it !  "  said  Adrian,  "  I 
must  get  to  Manchester!" 

"Take  Smarty,"  suggested  one  of 
the  men  ;  "  you  can  ride,  Mr.  Chester, 
and  we  had  her  sharpened  this  very 
morning." 

The  liveryman,  after  some  little  hes- 
itation—  no  livery  stable  keeper  likes 
to  hire  out  his  favorite  horse  —  cpn- 
sented.  "  Saddle  Smarty,  John,"  he 
said,  "  and  be  lively  about  it.  But 
Mr.  Chester,  remember,  the  mare's 
frisky,  and  she  hasn't  been  out  of  the 
stable  except  to  get  shod,  this  three 
days.  And  she's  awful  tender- 
mouthed,  too.  You'll  be  very  careful, 
won't  you  ?  " 

Adrian  promised,  and  the  bay  mare, 
a  beautiful  animal,  was  quickly 
brought  out  saddled  and  bridled, 
dancing  and  sidling  along  as  if  it  was 
difficult  to  keep  her  feet  down  to  the 
ground,  whisking  her  long  tail,  and 
arching  her  neck,  while  her  thin 
delicate  translucent  ears  quivered  and 
turned  to  and  fro,  and  she  snorted  and 
snuffed  in  the  fresh  air. 

After  some  little  trouble,  for  the 
mare  was  as  full  of  frolic  as  a  kitten, 
Adrian  got  into  the  saddle,  and  after 
she  had  paraded  about  a  little  on  her 
hind  legs,  she  came  down  to  business. 
At  an  easy  canter,  Adrian  went  off 
down  State  Street,  intending  to  turn 
northward  at  Front  Street  and  to 
cross  by  the  bridge ;  but  as  he  ap- 
proached the  foot  of  the  street,  the 
broad  level  surface  of  the  river 
tempted  him,  and  he  took  the  mare 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


201 


straight  over  in  the  wagon  track  on 
the  ice.  The  pure  cool  air,  so  differ- 
ent from  the  lifeless  dead  stuff  that 
they  defraud  themselves  with  for  an 
atmosphere  in  New  York  City,  stim- 
ulated him,  and  so  it  did  the  spirited 
animal  under  him  ;  as  he  crossed  the 
broad  motiouless  river,  the  easy  canter 
stretched  into  a  long  stride,  and  be- 
fore he  had  reached  East  Hartford 
Street,  the  fleet  mare  was  racing  along 
at  that  glorious  greyhound-like  undu- 
lating full  speed  that  takes  away  the 
idea  of  effort,  and  is  the  most  beauti- 
ful motion  on  earth,  except  perhaps 
that  of  the  greyhound  himself,  or 
that  of  a  swift  boat  before  a  strong 
breeze.  Up  hill  and  down,  and  across 
the  levels  of  that  sandy  region,  sped 
the  strong  swift  creature,  as  if  she  en- 
joyed the  expedition  as  much  as  her 
rider ;  sometimes,  it  is  true,  slackening 
her  pace  to  an  impatient  walk,  along 
some  piece  of  road  where  the  snow 
was  soft ;  but  it  was  not  much  over 
an  hour  from  the  time  of  starting, 
when  Adrian  rode  up  to  the  door  of 
the  counting-room  of  the  Barnard 
Paper  Mill  some  twelve  miles  away. 
Old  Adam  Welles,  who  was  at  that 
moment  in  the  counting-room,  came 
to  the  door. 

"  Ah  ha,  Mr.  Chester,  glad  to  see 
you !  Young  man  Chester,  welcome 
to  old  Manchester."  And  he  laughed 
heartily  at  his  own  wit,  and  then 
looking  at  the  mare's  smoking  flanks, 
he  exhorted  Adrian  to  dismount  and 
let  her  be  taken  care  of.  Adrian 
readily  complied,  and  without  waste 
of  time,  told  the  old  gentleman  just 
what  had  brought  him  out  there. 

"Old  town-clerk  Tidball ! "  said 
Adam  "Yv  elles,  with  great  interest,  — 
"  you  don't  say  so  !  Well,  I  dare  say 
the  stock's  in  the  sorting  room  this 
minute.  I  know  there  were  three  or 
four  loads  brought  this  very  morning, 


and  we  were  rather  short  of  stock,  so 
they've  gone  right  in  to  be  sorted. 
Come  on,  Mr.  Chester."  And  send- 
ing the  mare  to  a  stable  to  be  rubbed 
down  and  taken  good  care  of,  the  old 
man  led  the  way  to  the  sorting  room. 

This  was  a  large  loft,  where  a  num- 
ber of  women  were  handling  away  at 
great  piles  of  all  manner  of  waste 
paper  and  rags,  and  swiftly  laying 
out  the  different  classes  of  "  stock," 
for  the  devouring  maw  of  the  mill. 
They  stopped  at  the  door  for  a  mo- 
ment to  look  at  the  busy  scene,  and 
Adrian  observed, 

"  What  a  quantitj'  of  curious  things 
must  turn  up  here  in  the  course  of  a 
year ! " 

"  Yes  inde'ed.  One  of  our  women 
found  an  envelope  full  of  banknotes  a 
little  while  ago." 

"  Didn't  the  company  want  them  ?  " 

"  She  was  shrewd  enough  to  slip 
the  envelope  into  her  bosom  the  mo- 
ment she  saw  what  it  was  without 
saying  one  word,  and  she  went 
straight  on  with  her  work  until  the 
end  of  the  afternoon.  But  she  didn't 
come  back  any  more,  and  she  and  her 
husband  had  left  town  before  we 
found  out.  I  heard  they'd  bought  a 
farm  out  West  somewhere." 

"Oh,  a  husband!  No  chance  for 
you,  then,  Mr.  Welles." 

"  No,  thank  goodness  !  "  said  the 
old  gentleman,  who  professed  to  hate 
and  despise  women  in  a  far  more 
cynical  manner,  at  least  in  assump- 
tion, than  Miss  Chester's  towards 
men,  —  "  no  indeed  !  Pretty  muss 
a  woman  would  make  in  my  old  den ! 
I'd  sooner  set  it  on  fire.  Mr.  Ches- 
ter, women  are  Apollyons  !  " 

He  delivered  this  frightful  senti- 
ment with  a  concentrated  earnestness 
which  was  quite  funny. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Welles,"  said  Adrian, 
"  what    an    awful   heretic   you    are ! 


202 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


Now  my  aunt  talks  about  men  a  good 
deal  the  same  way,  but  she  does  think 
marrying  is  good  for  half  of  us. 
'  Every  man  is  a  fool  that  don't 
marry,'  she  says,  '  and  every  woman 
is  a  fool  that  does.' " 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I 
agree  to  the  last  half.  And  there'll 
always  be  enough  silly  people  to  con- 
tinue the  species,  so  I  can  have  my 
own  way  and  my  own  wisdom  with- 
out doing  any  harm.  —  Well,  let's  see 
if  they've  found  any  thing." 

So  he  advanced  into  the  room,  fol- 
lowed by  Adrian,  and  asked  the  fore- 
woman of  the  sorters  if  any  thing 
was  laid  out  for  him. 

"  Oh  yes,  Mr.  Welles.  There's  near 
a  bushel  of  stuff,"  —  and  she  pointed 
to  a  pile  on  a  sort  of  counter  at  one 
side  of  the  room,  which  the  old  gen- 
tleman and  Adrian  eagerly  hastened 
to  examine. 

It  was  a  heap  of  utter  rubbish  ;  — 
such  as  privately  printed  poems;  a 
stack  of  account  books ;  some  files  of 
old  receipts  ;  an  edition  of  an  occa- 
sional sermon,  —  "  There's  the  whole 
edition,"  said  Mr.  Welles,  —  "  seven 
bundles  of  two  hundred  and  fifty 
each ;  and  that  poor  old  fellow 
thought  he  was  going  to  make  a 
little  fortune  out  of  it !  " 

They  inspected  every  item,  and  had 
shifted  the  whole  pile,  without  finding 
the  least  scrap  of  any  value.  Adrian 
picked  up  one  of  the  last  three  pa- 
pers that  were  left,  saw  that  it  was  a 
blank  certificate  with  the  name  of 
Joash  Tidball  signed  to  it. 

"  Here's  one  Tidball  paper,"  he 
said.     "  There  ought  to  be  more." 

"  Another  armful,"  said  one  of  the 
women,  at  this  moment  bringing  up 
a  further  instalment,  which  she 
threw  down  upon  the  counter.  This 
lot  looked  a  good  deal  like  the  other. 
Adrian   and  Mr.   Welles    each    lifted 


out  of  it,  to  begin  with,  an  old  ac- 
count-book. Mr.  Welles's  was  bound 
in  old  fuzzy  calf,  Adrian's  in  crackly 
yellow  old  parchment.  Having 
opened  them  and  inspected  them  for 
a  few  moments  in  silence,  they  looked 
up  at  each  other  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, both  flushed  and  smiling. 

"Here's  Mr.  Button's  father's  own 
account  book,"  said  Adrian,  "  with  a 
genealogical  record  in  the  back  end." 

"  Here's  the  lost  second  volume  of 
the  Hartford  Town  Records,"  said 
old  Adam  Welles.  "  It's  been  missing 
over  a  hundred  years  !  " 

"  I  declare ! "  exclaimed  Adrian. 
"  See  if  the  other  half  of  the  Scroope 
will  isn't  there  !  " 

Eagerly  and  slowly  the  two  men 
turned  over  leaf  after  leaf,  from  one 
end  of  the  book  to  the  other.  They 
did  not  find  the  torn  leaf;  all  they 
could  discover  that  might  have  re- 
lated to  it  was,  a  very  narrow  strip 
between  two  leaves,  as  if  the  leaf  had 
been  carefully  torn  out  as  far  back  as 
possible.  All  the  rest  consisted  of 
entries  of  the  miscellaneous  sort  that 
used  to  go  into  the  early  town  records ; 
an  invaluable  mass  of  materials  for  the 
early  history  of  the  town,  but  show- 
ing no  signs  of  any  Scrope  informa- 
tion. 

Then  they  inspected  the  other 
book,  in  the  same  careful  way.  The 
account-book  part  was  an  ordinary 
series  of  business  entries,  carefully 
and  clearly  made  out,  but  sadly  mis- 
spelled. The  genealogy  which  the 
old  gentleman  had  noted  on  the 
blank  leaves  at  the  end,  was  of  more 
importance.  Having  read  it  through 
ver}r  deliberately,  the  two  men  once 
more  looked  at  each  other,  but  this 
time  with  a  surprise  by  no  means 
agreeable. 

"  Can  that  be  so  ?  "  said  Adrian. 
"  That  makes  Mr.  Button  a  descend- 


Scrope ;  or,  TJie  Lost  Library. 


203 


ant  of  the  Lebanon  Throops  and  not 
of  the  Bozrah  Throops!  No  relative 
of  ours  at  all !  " 

But  so  it  was.  Old  Adam  Welles, 
a  shrewd  and  clear-headed  judge  in 
such  matters,  was  convinced  that  this 
was  proved  by  old  Phineas  Button's 
entries. 

"  And  here  you  see  how  they  came 
to  think  they  might  use  the  Scrope 
arms,  too,"  said  he,  pointing  to  a  sep- 
arate entry  on  a  fly  leaf.  Adrian  read 
it: 

"  Arms  of  one  of  the  Scroope 
families,  used  by  some  of  the  Throops. 
Found  in  a  book  of  heraldry.  Azure 
a  bend  or." 

"Well,"  commented  Mr.  Welles 
with  a  smile,  "  he  thought  he  had  as 
good  a  right  to  one  Scroope  coat  as 
another,  and  so  he  might  as  they  say 
'  pick  his  choose.'     And  so  he  had  !  " 

This  discovery  instantly  filled 
Adrian's  mind  with  many  thoughts. 
First  came  the  reflection  that  here 
was  a  mode  of  accounting  for  the 
different  character  of  the  Button 
family  from  that  of  the  rest  of  the 
connection.  This  occurred  to  Mr. 
Welles  too,  at  the  same  time ;  for  he 
said, 

"Well:  he  didn't  seem  just  like 
the  rest  of  us,  that's  a  fact ! " 

"  By  George  !  "  said  Adrian,  "  he'll 
want  that  five  hundred  dollars  back 
from  Scrope  now,  if  he  finds  this 
out !  I  wish  he  may  get  it ! "  And 
the  young  man  stopped  short,  as  he 
remembered  that  this  discovery 
would   also,  very  likely,   as   soon   as 


Mr.  Button  should  know  it,  impel 
him,  rough  and  selfish  as  he  was,  to 
deprive  old  Mr.  Van  Braam  and 
Civille  at  once  of  home  and  living. 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  these 
books  ? "  he  said,  perplexed  and  un- 
easy. 

"I  think  if  Mr.  Stanley  were 
here,"  said  Mr.  Welles,  with  a  laugh, 
"  and  we  did  not  let  him  have  them, 
he  would  kill  us." 

After  some  discussion,  it  was  decid- 
ed that  Adrian  should  take  the 
record  volume  to  Hartford  and  de- 
posit it  in  the  town-clerk's  office  ;  for 
though  neither  of  the  two  men  said 
so,  they  both  knew  perfectly  well 
that  if  intrusted  to  Stanley,  it  would 
disappear  as  effectually  as  it  had  with 
the  deceased  Tidball.  As  for  the 
account  book,  Adrian  left  that  for 
Mr.  Welles,  who,  as  he  knew,  would 
give  it  to  Stanley.  He  could  not 
bring  himself  to  undertake  to  for-' 
ward  it,  or  its  disagreeable  informa- 
tion, to  Mr.  Button.  He  was  con- 
scious that  the  publisher  ought  to  be 
told.  He  knew  that  Stanley  was  a 
grave,  and  not  a  trumpet,  of  informa- 
tion. But  yet,  he  felt  that  he  must 
for  the  present  at  least  hold  '  his 
tongue.  "The  truth  is  not  to  be 
told  at  all  times,"  says  the  proverb. 
This  does  not  mean  that  you  may 
tell  a  lie,  but  that  it  may  be  right  to 
hold  your  tongue. 

So  he  tied  up  his  record-book,  and 
with  a  friendly  farewell  to  Mr. 
Welles,  he  rode  back  to  Hartford, 
depressed  and  thoughtful. 


204 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


PART  XI. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

"With  women,  love  is  a  business ; 
with  men,  business  is  a  love.  This 
does  not  mean  that  women  are  mer- 
cenary in  love  or  that  men  deal  in 
the  spirit  of  love  in  their  ordinary 
business.  It  means  that  love  is  to 
women,  yet  more  than  to  men,  an 
occupation,  absorbing,  that  fills  and 
uses  much  of  life ;  that  to  men,  busi- 
ness fills  and  uses  much  of  their  life 
in  much  the  same  way.  As  human 
life  is  at  present  ordered,  this  appor- 
tionment of  activities  is  unavoidable 
and  appropriate. 

Thus  it  happened  that  Adrian, 
rejected  both  by  the  lady  to  whom  be 
had  been  betrothed  and  whom  lie 
loved  in  what  may  be  called  a  conven- 
tional sense,  and  by  the  lady  whom  be 
loved  really,  to  whom  he  had  offered 
himself  as  it  were  unconsciously,  from 
the  impulse  of  a  genuine,  intuitive 
and  profound  love,  was  yet  not  disa- 
bled in  any  sense  by  his  grief.  It  is 
true  that  his  own  fortunate  instinctive 
good  sense  and  native  self-command 
enabled  him  to  do  what  many  a  man 
has  died  for  not  doing ;  to  drive  out 
his  sorrow  by  filling  the  place  of  it 
with  incessant  activity.  It  hardly 
occurred  to  him  to  mope,  and  if  it  did, 
he  set  himself  resolutely  to  get  out  of 
moping ;  and  as  to  suicide,  there  was 
in  his  healthy  active  mental  constitu- 
tion no  idiotic  —  or  lunatic  —  vacancy 
to  receive  the  idea. 

None  the  less  however  did  his  long- 
ing return  upon  him  when  an  hour  of 
leisure   came.     He   rode   back   home 


from  the  old  paper-mill  without  ad- 
venture ;  returned  the  lively  mare  to 
the  charge  of  the  livery-stable  man, 
who  complimented  him  upon  the  good 
judgment  with  which  she  had  been 
used ;  went  home  to  the  old  house, 
and  told  his  aunt,  during  tea-time,  all 
about  his  trip  and  his  discoveries,  and 
above  all,  he  showed  her  the  Scrope 
Genealogy,  at  which  she  was  properly 
amazed  and  delighted. 

After  tea  he  still  sat  talking  a  while 
with  the  old  lady,  whose  questions 
were  many  about  his  experiences  in 
New  York.  To  some  of  these  inqui- 
ries Adrian  replied  with  freedom  and 
fulness ;  but  the  answers  which  bore 
upon  his  own  personal  relations  to 
people  in  New  York  he  found  himself 
measuring  and  considering,  so  as  to 
avoid  telling  any  thing  about  Civille 
or  Ann.  Their  interests,  however, 
were  so  combined  with  those  of  other 
people,  and  therefore  kept  him  watch- 
ing and  shaping  his  replies  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  shrewd  old  lady  sud- 
denly exclaimed, 

'"'What's  the  matter  with  you, 
Adrian  ?  You  hitch  and  boggle  as  if 
you  were  afraid  I  should  find  out  that 
you've  been  committing  murder  !  " 

"  Why,"  said  he,  not  liking  to  con- 
fess the  facts,  "I  don't  know  of  any 
murder ;  but  I'm  pretty  tired.  I  think 
very  likely  I  can  tell  a  straighter 
story  to-morrow." 

This  excuse  was  readily  accepted  ; 
and  Adrian  went  rather  earlier  than 
usual  to  his  own  room,  with  full  inten- 
tion of  going  straight  to  bed.  Having 
however    shut  his  door,    and  sitting 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


205 


down  before  the  fire  for  a  few  mo- 
ments of  quiet  solitary  thought,  his 
mind  re-verted  with  magnetic  prompt- 
ness to  Civille,  and  he  unresistingly 
permitted  himself  to  float  away  into 
a  long  deep  love-revery. 

Perhaps  such  a  state  is  a  real  com- 
munication. Not  every  one  is  capable 
of  it.  As  man  is  made  in  the  image 
of  God,  so  the  love  of  man  should  be 
in  the  image  of  the  love  of  God. 
Perhaps  not  many  in  this  life  can 
enter  into  the  fulness  of  either.  Per- 
haps not  many  can  love  with  absolute 
wholeness  of  being  —  "with  all  thy 
heart  (body)  and  with  all  thy  mind 
(soul)  and  with  all  thy  strength  (giv- 
ing one's  self  totally  and  all  togeth- 
er).'"'" Nothing  else  is  full  love.  But 
it  absorbs  the  whole  being.  When  we 
become  seraphim,  we  can  do  nothing 
else,  perhaps  :  but  while  we  are  human, 
we  must  do  many  things  else,  and  as 
human,  must  cast  ourselves  whole  into 
them  one  after  another,  but  must 
from  time  to  time  come  wholly  (so  far 
as  consciousness  is  concerned)  out  of 
each. 

For  the  time,  however,  Adrian 
neither  knew  nor  felt  any  thing  but  a 
longing  passionate  love  for  Civille. 
He  had  repeatedly  been  vividly  con- 
scious of  her  personal  charms.  He 
had  had  less  consciousness  of  the  far 
higher  and  rarer  charm  that  dwelt 
around  herand  radiated  from  her  —  the 
charm  of  her  sweet  controlling  spirit- 
uality. Yet  it  was  exactly  this  that 
had  most  attracted  him.  Neither  at 
airv  other  time,  nor  now,  however,  did 
he  analyze  or  reason  about  her.  He 
surrendered  himself  to  an  emotion,  an 
impulse,  powerful,  profound,  lovely,  be- 
yond any  thing  he  had  ever  known. 
His  heart  beat,  his  cheeks  flushed,  he 
felt  tears  almost  coming  into  his  eyes  ; 
he  sighed,  he  said  half  aloud,  "  Oh, 
Civille !  "  and  held  out  his  arms  as  if 


his  prayer  could  have  reached  her 
and  drawn  her  close  upon  his  heart.  — 
But  the  spoken  word  and  the  move- 
ment awaked  him  :  and  man-like,  he 
blushed  to  be  capable  of  such  sweet 
and  deep  emotion.  Yet  the  longing 
wish  to  commune  with  the  inaccessible 
one  still  thrilled  throughout  him ;  and 
turning  to  his  desk,  he  wrote: 

Dear  CrvrLLE :  This  is  not  to  beg  nor  to 
annoy.  — As  long  as  I  don't  hunt  you  and 
try  to  make  you  do  or  say  what  you  don't 
wish,  you  will  let  me  tell  you  my  thoughts, 
won't  you?  You  are  kind.  I  am  sure  you 
will. 

—  Now,  dear,  I  don't  get  you  out  of  my 
mind  at  all.  And  (please  not  to  he  dis- 
pleased) I  don't  feel  as  if  you  had  refused 
me.  What  I  mean  is  —  I  think  —  that  I 
know  it  was  not  out  of  dislike.  And  I 
know  we  need  not  he  shy  of  each  other  on 
account  of  it.  You  would  ask  me  to  serve 
you  if  there  was  a  chance,  just  as  soon  as 
before  —  wouldn't  you  ?  Yoii  ought  to, 
sooner.  —  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  were  setting 
down  words  to  you.  Nor  did  I  ever  feel  as 
if  I  were  talking  to  you,  exactly.  —  1  want 
to  say  what  some  people  would  think  very 
irreverent  and  wicked,  but  I  can't  show 
you  what  I  mean  any  other  way.  —  The 
feeling  I  always  had  with  you  was  a  sense 
of  oneness  with  a  higher  existence.  And  yet 
this  has  never  been  a  consciousness  while 
it  was  happening  —  it  was  always  a  remem- 
brance after  I  had  left  you.  How  can  I 
express  the  depth,  the  force,  of  such  recol- 
lections ?  Will  details  do  it  ?  They  add 
life  likeness  to  a  picture.  Let  me  try : 

About  four  minutes  ago,  that  is,  ten 
minutes  before  eleven,  which  means,  you 
know,  fifteen  minutes  and  seven  seconds 
before  eleven,  where  you  are,  and  just  be- 
fore I  began  this  letter,  I  was  sitting  still 
before  the  lire  in  rny  own  room.  I  have  had 
a  long  and  fatiguing  day,  but  I  know  now 
that  a  consciousness  of  you  had  been  un- 
derlying all  my  riding  and  hurrying,  like  a 
level  vein  of  gold  under  rough  hills.  When  I 
came  and  sat  down  here  alone  all  the  upper 
strata  vanished  and  the  gold-bearing  one 
appeared.  So  it  was  as  if  you  were  by  me, 
I  think ;  and  I  held  out  my  arms  and  called 
you,  and  my  voice,  instead  of  calling  you 
to  me,  recalled  me  to  myself,  and  I  awoke, 
and  wished  you  were  here. 

So  you  have  not  made  me  dislike  you.  — 
I  had  some  entertaining  talk  with  Mr. 
Stanley  and  Mr.  Welles  on  the  boat  coming 
home.  This  morning  I  thought  I  had  a 
chance  to  rind  some  of  the  books  at  the  pa- 


206 


Scrope  ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


per  mill  where  Mr.  "Welles  works  —  went 
and  hunted  —  did  not  rind  them,  but  did 
find  something  else  —  two  somethings. 
One  was  a  volume  of  Hartford  town  rec- 
ords that  has  been  lost  for  a  hundred  years. 
•  •  Another  was  an  old  account  book  of  Phine- 
as  Button,  our  Mr.  Button's  father.  There 
is  a  record  of  births  and  deaths  in  it  which 
shows  something  that  I  wdl  tell  you,  in 
confidence  —  Mr.  Button  is  no  relative  of  ours 
—  he  is  of  the  Lebanon  family,  not  the 
Bozrah  family.  Now,  you  will  see  on  con- 
sidering that  if  he  should  find  this  out  it 
might  cause  you  and  your  father  some  in- 
convenience; and  if  that  should  happen, 
and  my  aunt  or  I  could  be  of  use  —  or 
if  we  could  for  any  other  matter,  and  you 
will  give  us  the  refusal  of  serving  you,  then 
I  Mill  forgive  you  every  thing!  If  you 
should  ever  prefer  anybody  else  to  us  in 
such  a  case,  I  don't  think  I  will  ever  for- 
give you!  N.B.  my  dear  cousin,  you  must 
figure  to  yourself  that  you  saw  my  face 
while  I  was  saying  these  last  things;  or 
else  you  will  take  the  threats  for  true  as 
well  as  the  good  will.  Tones  can't  be 
written  any  more  than  printed. 

But  I  shall  not  tell  Mr.  Button,  and  very 
likely  there's  no  harm  after  all.  You  may 
tell  your  father  if  you  think  best ;  for  you 
are  a  discreet  person ;  I  have  great  faith  in 
you.  My  writing  to  you  in  this  way  proves 
the  faith,  doesn't  it?  Perhaps  you  will 
answer  that  your  treating  me  in  that  way 
proved  the  discretion? 

Dear  Cirille;  you  wouldn't  guess  it,  but 
(in  a  proper,  cousinly,  harmless,  inoffensive 
way, )  I  love  you.  Adrian. 


"  Aunty,"  said  Adrian,  next  morn- 
ing at  breakfast,  looking  up  suddenly 
from  his  paper,  "  they  are  going  to 
pull  down  the  old  parsonage  at  the 
foot  of  Prospect  Street." 

"Are  they?"  said  the  old  lady. 
"Well  —  it  used  to  be  a  mighty  fine 
house  —  I  can  remember  when  old 
Madam  TVoodbridge  used  to  live 
there.  She  was  old  Parson  Wood- 
bridge's  grand-daughter,  and  nobody 
but  ministers  or  their  folks  had  ever 
occupied  it.  It  was  built  for  the  Rev- 
erend Thomas  Hooker,  you  know." 

"  The  beginning  of  it  was,"  said 
Adrian,    who   was    a   more    accurate 


local  antiquarian  than  his  aunt;  "but 
only  the  first  floor  of  half  the  ground 
plan.  You  know  it  was  determined 
long  ago  that  the  great  chimney  had 
been  partly  rebuilt.  It  was  at  one 
side  of  the  house  first,  and  had  to  be 
enlarged  when  they  built  round  it,  so 
as  to  make  room  for  fireplaces  and 
ovens  on  the  other  side." 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Chester,  "the 
odor  of  sanctity  was  drowned  out  by 
the  smell  of  rum  and  tobacco  a  good 
while  ago,  and  I'd  just  as  lief  the  old 
house  should  come  down." 

"  But  I  thought,"  suggested  Adrian 
slyly,  "that  the  smells  of  rum  and 
tobacco  were  of  the  most  sanctified 
sort  amongst  the  old  fashioned  Con- 
necticut clergy?  " 

"  Oh,  very  well,  —  there's  been 
plenty  of  Germans  there  too ;  say 
lager  and  sour  krout,  if  you  like." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  man,  "  it 
has  been  a  tenement  house  this  long 
time.  But  I  must  go  and  stand 
guard  while  they  pull  it  down.  Stan- 
ley got  his  Higley  copper  in  the  un- 
derpinning of  the  old  Webster  place, 
and  they  found  a  perfect  pine-tree 
shilling  on  one  of  the  sills." 

"How  do  ^ou  know  it  is  to  be 
pulled  down  to-day  ? "  said  the  old 
lady. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Adrian ;  and 
he  read  out  a  local  item  from  the 
Daily  Courant : 

"  Another  Old  Landmark  Gone.  The 
devastating  hand  of  improvement  will  to- 
day erase  from  our  midst  one  of  the  very 
few  remaining  monuments  of  the  days  of 
the  Pilgrims.  The  former  parsonage  of  the 
First  Church  in  Hartford,  long  hallowed  as 
the  abode  of  Thomas  Hooker  and  his  suc- 
cessors in  the  ministry,  after  having  been 
desecrated  for  half  a  century  as  a  boarding- 
house  and  tenement-house,  is  to  be  pulled 
down,  this  very  day,  to  make  room  fur  the 
new  brick  block  to  be  erected  by  the  enter- 
prising firm  of  Bobson  and  Bull.  The  de- 
signs were  drawn  by  that  accomplished 
architect  English  Bond  Esq. ;  and  the  con- 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


!07 


tract  for  the  whole  building  has  been  taken 
by  the  energetic  firm  of  Wood  and  Stone. 
We  trust  that  the  spectacle  of  prosperity 
which  the  new  edifice  will  offer,  may  pro- 
pitiate the  venerable  ghosts  of  the  de- 
parted. The  building  is  to  be  embellished, 
we  understand,  with  a  handsome  white 
marble  memorial  slab  in  the  centre  of  the 
front,  upon  which  will  be  carved  the  ap- 
propriate and  honored  name  of  '  Hooker 
Block.'     Tempora  mutantur." 

"Well,"  mused  Miss  Chester,  "I 
never  thought  I  should  outlive  that 
old  house.  I  s'pose  this  one  of  ours 
will  go  next.  The  common  council's 
tried  to  get  rid  of  it  often  enough. 
They  seem  to  be  as  set  against  an  old 
house  as  they  are  against  an  old  tree. 
They've  cut  down  all  the  old  elms 
and  poplars  on  Main  Street.  Here 
goes  the  oldest  house  in  town.  Ours'll 
come  next,  I  guess.  They'll  have 
an  ordinance  shortly,  I  expect,  to  kill 
all  the  old  folks.  Now  I  wonder 
what  can  be  the  reason  that  an  alder- 
man naterally  hates  a  tree?" 

"  Because,"  answered  Adrian,  "  an 
alderman  is  afraid  of  a  tree.  He's  a 
wooden  headed  rascal  himself,  and 
wants  to  get  the  raw  material  out  of  the 
way,  for  fear  the  carpenter  should  hew 
a  better  one  out  of  a  tree-trunk." 

"Well:  they  might  perhaps  have 
cause  to  be  afraid  of  a  poplar  candi- 
date," said  the  old  lady  slyly ;  "  but 
elm-wood  is  for  coffins  ;  they'd  better 
keep  that  growing." 

"  I  wish  an  alderman  had  been 
hung  in  State  House  Square  for  every 
elm  cut  down ! "  said  Adrian,  hotly. 
"  Then  it  would  be  some  small  conso- 
lation to  bury  each  of  the  beasts  in 
the  very  tree  he  had  murdered." 

"Look  into  the  garret,  Adrian; 
don't  forget  that,"  said  Miss  Chester. 

"  Well,  I  will,"  was  the  reply ;  — 
"  but  what  can  there  be  there  now?" 

"  Never  mind,"  said  the  old  lady ; 
"  the  way  to  find  things  is  to  look  in 
the  unlikeliest  places  first.     I   don't 


expect  the  Scrope  books  are  there, 
but  look,  at  any  rate.  You  know  old 
Miss  Woodbridge  used  to  say  she  be- 
lieved the  Scrope  Chest  was  there 
when  she  was  a  girl." 

"  I've  heard  you  say  so,"  answered 
Adrian  ;  "  but  I  guess  it  was  only  her 
fancy.  The  chest  and  books  seem  to 
have  disappeared  together  from  the 
time  of  the  will,  —  in  1727,  though 
Stanley  says  the  chest  was  there 
seventy  years  later."  Miss  Woodbridge 
couldn't  remember  so  far  back  as  that. 

"  She  remembered  her  grand- 
father, though  —  unless  she  imagined 
him  from  that  stiff  wooden  looking 
old  portrait  in  her  keeping-room, 
She  used  to  tell  me  of  things  he  said, 
and  things  he  did;  but  all  that  may 
have  been  told  her  too.  But  there's 
that  other  old  story  of  one  of  the 
three  regicide  judges  being  kept  hid 
in  that  very  house — they  seem  to 
have  been  into  every  town  in  New 
England!  —  still  if  it  was  so  it  would 
be  very  natural  for  Adrian  Scroope 
and  his  goods  to  be  there  too." 

"Well,"  repeated  Adrian,  "I'll 
watch  every  splinter  and  scrap  of  the 
old  place ;  but  I  must  run,  —  they 
may  have  it  half  down  already  for 
what  I  know." 

And  springing  up,  he  seized  hat 
and  coat  and  hastened  out. 

CHAPTER   XXIX. 

Adrian  crossed  over  at  the  east 
end  of  the  State  House  Square,  and 
walked  swiftly  southward  down  Pros- 
pect Street.  The  distance  was  not 
great ;  it  was  but  a  few  minutes 
before  he  was  descending  that  rather 
positive  incline  at  whose  foot  Pros- 
pect Street  turns  into  Arch  Street. 
The  ancient  mansion  in  question  stood 
just  at  the  confluence  of  these  streets, 
upon  the  farther  or  south  side  of  Arch 


208 


Scrope 


or, 


The  Lost  Library. 


Street,  on  the  narrow  space  between 
that  street  and  the  steep  high  rocky- 
bank  of  Little  River,  that  tributary 
to  the  might3r  Connecticut  which 
meanders  so  charmingly  through  the 
very  middle  of  the  wealthy  old  city. 
There  is  a  horrid  tradition  that  this 
stream  is  properly  —  improperly  would 
be  the  right  term  —  called  Hog  Riv- 
er ;  but  the  vile  story  is  only  alluded 
to  here  that  it  may  be  abhorred  —  as 
they  nail  up  a  crow  on  the  barn  door. 
As  he  came  out  upon  the  upper 
part  of  the  slope  towards  the  river, 
Adrian  was  startled  to  see  the  de- 
stroyers already  at  their  fiendish 
work.  Several  men,  with  axes  and 
crowbars,  were  pounding  and  ripping 
away  at  the  roof  with  that  species  of 
inhuman  delight  that  attends  all 
destructions  ;  while  clouds  of  dry  dust 
arose  in  the  clear  cold  air,  and  shin- 
gles, timber  and  bricks  rattled  and 
crashed  down  into  the  street  below. 
And  just  crossing  the  street  to  enter 
the  old  house,  was  Mr.  Philetus  Stan- 
ley of  East  Hartford.  Assuredly ! 
Not  cart-ropes  could  have  kept  that 
keen  and  tireless  hunter  from  such  a 
quarry.  Cau  any  New  England  man- 
sion of  the  better  class,  and  two  hun- 
dred years  or  more  of  age,  be  pulled 
down  without  the  bringing  to  light 
of  some  treasure  ?  It  may  be  manu- 
scripts or  pamphlets  or  books  or  coins 
or  furniture  or  utensils  or  what  not 
—  but  something  ancient  and  curi- 
ous there  is  sure  to  be.  And  Hart- 
ford is  within  sixteen  years  as  old  as 
any  town  in  New  England,  and  was 
from  the  first  one  of  those  substan- 
tial and  intelligent  communities  who 
have  things  worth  keeping,  and  there- 
fore worth  losing  and  worth  finding 
again  two  centuries  afterwards.  And 
many  a  prize  had  Mr.  Stanley  gath- 
ered from  the  ruins  of  such  old  houses, 
to     be    borne    into    that    mysterious 


treasure-chamber  in  his  own  old  house 
—  a  room  whose  fame  was  known  to 
every  antiquarian  in  New  England, 
but  whose  interior  had  never  been 
beheld  by  one  mortal  of  them  all 
except  its  owner. 

However,  here  he  was,  all  the  keen- 
er for  what  he  had  already  amassed, 
as  is  the  wont  of  misers.  Adrian  gave 
one  groan  at  seeing  his  rival,  but  truly 
it  is  to  be  feared  the  young  man  was 
not  quite  envious  and  miserly  enough 
for  an  ideal  collector.  So  he  appended 
a  laugh  to  the  groan,  and  only  sped 
onward  faster  than  before,  dislocating 
and  misapplying  a  very  respectable 
quotation  as  he'  did  so,  as  if  to  justify 
himself:  "On,  Stanley,  on!"  said 
Mr.  Adrian;  "Chester  is  charging 
after  you  !  "  Moreover,  he  charged 
to  such  purpose  that  he  was  close  at 
Stanley's  heels  before  that  gentleman 
had  ascended  the  steep  huddled  flight 
of  stairs  that  turned  three  square 
corners  within  the  little  entry  before 
reaching  the  second  floor. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Stanley  !  "  he 
cried  out  cheerfully  —  "I  follow  in 
the  footsteps  of  my  illustrious  prede- 
cessor ! " 

"Good  morning,"  said  Stanley,  very 
grimly,  for  he  was  enraged  ;  but  there 
was  no  help  for  it,  and  they  went  on 
together.  The  house  had  been  emp- 
tied, stripped  to  nakedness.  Even 
the  last  old  shoes  and  bonnet-frames 
and  skirt-skeletons  were  lying  out  in 
the  street  waiting  for  the  more  solid 
rubbish.  The  bald  nakedness  of  the 
rooms  was  inexpressibly  dreary.  The 
two  men  had  not  looked  into  the 
lower  ones,  and  only  hurried  through 
the  upper  ones  to  get  into  the  garret, 
which  they  both  knew  perfectly  well 
was  the  first  place  to  search.  But 
even  in  two  seconds  Adrian's  quick 
eye  took  in  a  squalid  gloomy  vision  of 
battered    plaster,    soiled    cheap    wall 


Scrope  ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


209 


paper,  grease-spots  at  head-rest  height 
around  the  wall,  and  smoke-marks 
upon  the  ceiling.  In  another  moment 
they  were  in  the  garret,  in  a  dust  of 
old  lime  and  dirt  so  thick  that  they 
could  hardly  see,  with  a  rain  of  shin- 
gles, and  bits  of  wood,  seasoned  with 
brick-bats,  falling  around  them,  and 
the  prodigious  banging  of  the  work- 
men resounding  on  the  hollow  roof 
and  thundering  in  their  very  ears. 

The  garret  had  been  partitioned 
off  into  small  rooms.  As  they  made 
their  way  alone  through  these,  the 
chief  workman  met  them,  all  pow- 
dered white  with  lime-dust.  In  reply 
to  an  inquiry,  he  bawled  out  through 
the  racket  that  there  wasn't  a  relic  in 
the  whole  house,  from  ridge-pole  to  cel- 
lar bottom,  but  he  made  them  welcome 
to  hunt  as  much  as  they  liked ;  only 
recommending  them  to  wear  buckets 
on  their  heads  against  brickbats. 

"Now,  what  is  there  in  here,  for  in- 
stance ?  "  shouted  Adrian,  rapping  on 
an  old  partition  of  perpendicular  oak 
planks  that  extended  from  one  corner 
of  the  great  square  shaft  of  the  chim- 
ney, across  to  the  eaves. 

"  Oh,  nothing ;  only  another  room," 
said  the  chief  Apollyon.  Adrian 
walked  back  round  the  chimney  to 
see.     The  others  followed. 

"There's  a  room,"  said  Adrian, 
"no  doubt ;  but  that's  a  double  parti- 
tion, and  there's  more  than  two  feet 
between  them,"  he  added,  pointing 
out  the  facts  to  the  carpenter. 

"Yes,"  admitted  the  workman; 
"  it's  a  closet ;  there's  the  door,  close 
to  the  chimney ;  that  single  board 
hung  on  leather." 

Adrian  opened  it  and  put  in  his 
head. 

"  Pitch  dark,  and  smells  very  rank 
of  old  shoes,"  he  observed.  "  Hold  on 
a  moment."  He  struck  a  light  with 
a    match,  and    then   added,    "  This 


closet  don't  go  clear  out  to  the  eaves. 
There's  a  cross  partition.  May  I  get 
an  axe  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly.  Good- 
natured  —  and  inquisitive  —  Mr.  Car- 
penter ran  off  himself  after  one. 

"  Halves,  now,"  said  Adrian,  "  if 
we  find  any  thing,  —  honor  bright?" 

Mr.  Stanley,  a  little  reluctantly, 
agreed.  The  axe  was  quickly  brought, 
and  a  crowbar  too;  and  the  vigorous 
and  skilful  enginery  of  the  athletic 
workman  quickly  started  a  plank  or 
two  from  the  neighborhood  of  the 
cross  partition  which  Adrian  had 
noticed.  The  carpenter  thrust  in  his 
head.  "Nothing  in  there,  I  reckon," 
he  said. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Adrian.  —  "  Yes- 
there  is  —  come,  let's  have  the  rest  of 
these  planks  down.  There's  an  old 
box." 

Bang,  rip,  crash,  down  came  half  a 
dozen  more  of  the  ancient  oak  boards  ; 
and  the  small  triangular  recess  close 
under  the  eaves  was  laid  open.  An 
old  fashioned  chest,  of  dark  colored 
wood,  panelled  and  carved,  stood 
within.  Adrian  and  Stanley  looked 
at  each  other.  The  workman,  creep- 
ing in  under  the  sloping  roof,  seized 
hold  of  the  chest  and  heaved  at  it. 

"  Pretty  solid,  that !  "  he  exclaimed, 
finding  it  much  more  heavy  than  he 
had  expected.  Adrian  crawled  in  also, 
and  the  two  men  hoisted  the  box  out 
into  plain  sight. 

"  The  Scrope  Chest ! "  said  Stanley, 
and  he  pointed  to  the  escutcheon 
carved  in  the  oaken  front,  with  the 
well  known  bearings,  Azure  a  bend 
or,  properly  indicated  by  dots  and 
lines,  and  the  word  "  Scroope,"  in  old 
English  letters,  beneath  it. 

Just  as  one  gazes  at  the  outside  of 
a  letter,  wondering  whether  it  brings 
good  news  or  bad,  or  who  the  writer 
may  be,  so  the  two  zealots  stood  gazing 
for  a  moment  at  the  outside  of  this 


210 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


old  chest.  Each  was  saying,  That  is 
the  Lost  Library  !  Each  was  prefer- 
ring the  room  of  the  other  to  his  com- 
pan}r,  with  a  silent  fervency  that  if 
translated  into  act  might,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  have  extinguished  a  valuable 
life.  Here,  in  the  middle  and  very 
heart  of  the  region,  even  in  the  very 
house,  no  doubt,  where  Adrian 
Scroope  had  sojourned,  this  treasure 
had  lain  in  silence  and  darkness  all 
these  years,  as  if  mocking  their  eager 
search  !  And  now,  both  the  gentle- 
men aui  scholars  were  cursing  each 
other  mo;*t  heartily  in  their  silence,  and 
longing  for  some  means  of  appropriat- 
ing the  whole  of  the  discovery.  Still, 
there  is  no  commandment  against 
coveting  what  doesn't  yet  belong  to 
your  neighbor;  and  the  two  men 
coveted  with  all   their  hearts. 

"  Confound  you,"  at  last  exclaimed 
Adrian,  though  witli  a  laugh  at  his 
own  fury.  "  Confound  you,  Mr.  Stan- 
ley, I  wish  you  were  in  heaven,  where 
you  belong ! " 

"Oh,  well,  go  there  yourself!"  said 
the  other,  in  the  same  tone. 

All  these  eager  immoralities,  how- 
ever, had  drifted  across  their  minds  in 
a  moment  or  two ;  and  Mr.  Carpenter, 
a  direct  and  practical  person,  having 
looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  them  a 
couple  of  times  with  some  wonder,  said, 

"  Wal,  you  look  as  if  you  thought 
there  was  a  corpse  into  it.  Here 
goes ! "  With  a  queer  impulse  of 
hesitating  reluctance,  —  a  sweet  reluc- 
tant amorous  delay,  —  eacli  of  them 
cried  "  Hold  on  ! "  but  even  as  they 
spoke,  the  workman  gave  a  pull,  an 
old  lock  cracked  and  yielded,  the  two 
spectators  turned  white  with  intense 
expectancy  and  doubt,  and  up  came 
the  lid.  The  box  was  crammed  full 
to  the  very  brim  with  unbound  printed 
sheets.  Stanley,  Adrian  and  the  car- 
penter each  seized  a  handful. 


"  Pshaw  !  "  exclaimed  Stanley,  — 
"  a  lot  of  copies  of  Stiles'  History  of 
the  Judges." 

"  Let's  see  if  that's  all,"  said  Adri- 
an, and  they  quickly  emptied  the 
old  chest;  but  it  was  all.  They  re- 
packed the  whole ;  handed  the  work- 
man a  proper  fee ;  and  one  of  the 
contractors  who  had  bought  the  build- 
ing having  by  this  time  come  to 
supervise  his  men,  Mr.  Stanley,  act- 
ing for  himself  and  Adrian,  easily 
purchased  the  chest  and  contents,  at 
a  cheap  rate. 

"See  here,"  said  Adrian,  when  the 
bargain  was  concluded,  "  I  want  the 
chest,  Mr.  Stanley." 

"  So  do  I,"  curtly  answered  the 
other. 

"  Well ;  you  want  that  edition  of 
Stiles  too,  don't  you  ?  Scarce  book,  — 
brings  from  $2.00  to  $5.00  at  auc- 
tion —  here's  some  two  hundred  un- 
cut perfect  copies:  —  splendid  chance 
for  exchanges,  if  you  car$y  'em  home 
and  keep  the  facts  to  yourself." 

Stanley  grinned.  "Well,"  pursued 
Adrian,  "  now,  see  here  :  —  You  just 
buy  of  Mr.  Wood  the  refusal  of  every 
thing  else  on  the  premises  that's  in 
your  line  :  take  the  sheets,  give  me 
the  chest,  and  I'll  retire ;  who  knows 
but  you'll  find  all  the  treasures  of  the 
Egyptians  ?  " 

Stanley,  after  brief  consideration, 
agreed  to  this  proposal,  and  even 
added  the  liberal  gift  of  one  of  the 
copies  of  the  book.  Adrian  hurried 
away  for  packing  paper  and  twine  ; 
tied  up  the  books,  handed  them  over 
to  Stanley's  charge,  and  getting  a 
dray,  drove  home  in  triumph  with  the 
Scrope  Chest.  Nor  did  he  regret  his 
bargain,  notwithstanding  the  well 
known  result.  As  all  New  England 
antiquaries  are  aware,  the  demoli- 
tion of  the  old  home  yielded  to  the 
eager   hands   of  the   happy  Stanley, 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


Ill 


not  only  divers  coins  and  other  small 
matters  of  interest,  but  a  very  con- 
siderable mass  of  the  sermons  and 
private  papers  of  the  Reverend 
Thomas  Hooker  himself,  the  same 
being  found  in  the  walls  of  the  house, 
stuffed  in  between  the  outer  weather- 
boards and  the  inner  lining.  How 
or  when  or  why  they  should  have 
been  thus  secreted,  nobody  has  ever 
explained:  there  is  no  tradition  of 
Mr.  Hooker's  having  hidden  or  de- 
stroyed these  or  any  other  papers,  as 
some  men  have  done  in  their  last 
days  ;  nor  is  any  thing  known  of  any 
risks  or  dangers  of  any  kind  which 
could  have  occasioned  the  conceal- 
ment. There  at  any  rate  they  were, 
yellow  and  stained,  a  few  of  them 
wasted  away  by  dampness  and  nib- 
bled by  vermin,  but  enough  of  them 
left  legible  to  form  a  valuable  addi- 
tion to  Mr.  Stanley's  hid  treasures. 
It  will  not  do  to  say  to  the  historical 
treasures  of  New  England,  until  the 
death  of  Mr.  Stanley  shall  release  them. 

As  for  the  copies  of  President 
Stiles'  well-known  and  well  reputed 
but  not  particularly  valuable  work,  it 
is  too  late  now  to  seek  to  trace  their 
transfer  from  the  printing  office  of 
Elisha  Babcock  in  1794  to  the  Scrope 
Chest  in  that  old  garret.  There  cer- 
tainly was  some  mismanagement  or 
other  in  the  publishing  of  the  book, 
perhaps  in  consequence  of  the  death 
of  the  author,  not  many  months  after 
it  appeared.  The  high  reputation  of 
the  writer  and  the  local  interest  of  the 
subject  would  naturally  have  caused 
the  printer  to  strike  off  a  good 
number  of  copies,  whereas  the  work 
has  always  been  rather  uncommon, 
and  is  now  quite  scarce. 

But  whatever  the  facts  might  be 
about  these  ancient  matters,  the 
Woodbridge  reminiscence  was  sub- 
stantiated.    The  Chest,  doubtless  with 


its  cargo  of  printed  sheets,  must  have 
been  stored  in  the  old  house  about 
1794 ;  and  the  partition  which  had 
protected  it  so  effectually  being  put 
in  not  long  afterwards,  books,  chest 
and  all  had  quietly  faded  out  of  re- 
membrance, as  deaths,  removals, 
changes  of  ownership  and  occupancy, 
and  the  other  vicissitudes  of  so  many 
years  had  arisen  one  after  another,  as 
additional  veils  between  present  and 
past. 

The  discovery  of  the  chest  and 
books  was  not  kept  so  quiet  as  was 
intended.  Such  things  never  are. 
Good  Messrs.  Carpenter  and  Contract- 
or, although  they  readily  agreed  not 
to  mention  the  little  circumstance, 
must  have  communicated  it,  of  course 
under  the  same  condition,  until  every- 
body in  Hartford  knew  all  about  it, 
on  condition  of  not  mentioning  it  to 
anybody.  Then  the  newspapers  — 
which  are  what  Goethe  called  Nature, 
"  the  Open  Secret  "  —  had  a  para- 
graph- or  two,  and  then  quite  a 
number  more,  on  the  chest,  on  the 
Scrope  Will,  and  in  particular  on  the 
Scrope  Library. 

The  general  conclusion  about  the 
latter  was  the  same  to  which  Adrian 
himself,  and  his  aunt,  had  come  at 
once ;  that  as  their  depository  was 
here,  they  themselves  must  be  in  the 
neighborhood.  The  notion  that  they 
were  probably  to  be  sought  for  in  the 
old  town  of  Bozrah,  or  in  Windsor, 
where  lived  Adrian's  ancestor  John 
Chester,  was  definitely  surrendered, 
and  the  only  question  suggested  as 
remaining  for  discussion  was,  Where 
in  Hartford  can  the  old  books  be  ? 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

Civille  answered  Adrian  by  re- 
turn mail,  kindly  enough,  but  in  a 
note  so  brief  as  to  be  little  more  than 


212 


So 


ope 


The  Lost  Library. 


a  mere  acknowledgment  of  receipt. 
Indeed,  she  apologized  for  this  brev- 
ity, but  with  such  generalized  speci- 
fications about  health,  employments 
&c,  that  Adrian,  reading  the  neat 
little  document  over  and  over,  and 
pondering  upon  it.  could  not  help  con- 
cluding, Either  she  don't  care  at  all, 
or  she  cares  so  much  that  she  is 
afraid.  He  now,  moreover,  resumed 
his  post  as  assistant  librarian  at  the 
Young  Men's  Institute,  and  betook 
himself  to  his  regular  avocation  of  cov- 
ering, stamping,  marking  and  shelv- 
ing books,  of  running  to  get  novels 
for  little  boys,  of  first  informing 
young  ladies  what  books  they  wanted 
aud  then  handing  them  out,  of  com- 
paring his  own  critical  estimates  of 
great  writers  with  those  of  middle- 
aged  single  ladies,  and  of  doing  all 
other  those  acts  and  things  which 
are  proper  to  the  office  of  assistant 
librarian.  He  had  overstaid  his  va- 
cation by  a  number  of  days,  but  a 
proper  acknowledgment  to  the  can- 
tankerous members  of  the  Board  of 
Directors  served  to  adjust  that ;  the 
accommodating  members  remembered 
all  the  extra  hours  and  days  and  labor 
that  the  young  man  had  so  often 
bestowed  upon  the  institution,  without 
talking  about  it.  And  he  flung  him- 
self into  his  work  harder  than  ever, 
in  part  purposely,  to  make  up  for  lost 
time,  in  part  without  any  conscious 
purpose,  but  as  the  result  of  a  necessity 
to  escape  from  useless  wishes  and  mere 
lamenting  reveries.  In  whatever  time 
he  had  to  spare  from  work  and  sleep, 
he  did  however  devote  himself  to  a 
thorough  re-examination  of  the  ques- 
tion of  the  Scroope  books  ;  inquiring 
of  all  the  living  authorities  (except 
Mr.  Philetus  Stanley  of  East  Hart- 
ford) that  he  could  reach,  and  search- 
ing records  in  every  direction.  It 
was  however  all    in  vain ;   he  could 


not  find  the  least  hint  of  the  books 
subsequent  to  their  disposition  in  the 
Will,  nor  any  of  the  chest  itself,  whose 
presence  in  his  own  room  was  proof 
enough  of  its  own  existence  now  ;  but 
he  used  sometimes  to  think  of  the 
old  witchcraft  notions,  and  to  wish  he 
could  extort  a  revelation  from  the 
hard  and  blackened  oak  timber,  like 
Canidia,  who  used  to  make  the  moon 
dance  and  bow,  or  as  Khawla  in  the 
Domdaniel  extorted  speech  from  the 
dead  Teraph. 

But  one  day  about  a  month  after- 
ward, at  noon,  a  telegram  reached 
him  at  the  library  to  the  following 
effect : 

"  Come  at  once.  Van  Braams  are  in 
trouble.  C.  Yeroel." 

"  I  must  go  to  New  York  by  next 
train,"  said  Adrian  promptly  to  his 
principal.  "  Some  near  relations  are 
in  trouble  there." 

"  Very  well,"  said  that  gentleman, 
quite  courteously,  "  I  can't  say  a  word 
against  that ;  but  will  you  please 
notify  the  Board  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Adrian,  —  "  in- 
stantly ;  but  I  can't  wait."  So  he 
wrote  a  brief  note  to  the  President ; 
as  he  began  he  remembered  the  can- 
tankerous minority  ;  and  with  a  decis- 
ion that  was  to  him  easy  because  it 
was  natural,  but  which  is  more  ad- 
mired than  practised  by  prudent 
people,  he  shaped  the  note  into  a 
short  statement  of  his  departure  and 
its  reasons,  with  a  resignation  of  his 
post,  should  the  Board  under  the 
circumstances  think  it  best  to  accept 
the  same. 

To  show  a  board  of  young  men,  — 
or  old  men  either,  —  that  their  sub 
ordinate  feels  independent  of  them, 
is  a  tolerably  sure  and  short  road  to 
a  dismissal.  The  opposition  seized 
on  the  chance;  Adrian's  lukewarm 
friends   permitted    themselves    to  be 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


213 


displeased  or  indifferent ;  his  strong 
friends  felt  themselves  at  a  disadvan- 
tage ;  and  after  some  debate  over  the 
imputed  brusqueness  of  the  present 
action  and  the  alleged  carelessness 
of  the  interests  of  the  library  in  his 
recent  vacation,  the  resignation  was 
accepted  by  a  decisive  vote. 

Having  sent  his  message  at  once 
to  tbe  President  of  the  Board,  and 
having  answered  Dr.  Veroil  that  he 
would  reach  New  York  that  night,  he 
went  straight  home,  notified  his  aunt, 
aud  made  ready.  The  stout-hearted 
old  lady  instantly  offered  to  go  with 
him,  but  this  he  declined,  promising 
however  to  send  for  her  if  necessary. 

The  journey  was  without  adven- 
tures. Reaching  that  city,  Adrian 
went  at  once  to  Dr.  Veroil's.  That 
hospitable  and  genial  gentleman  was 
at  dinner,  and  he  made  Adrian  sit 
down  and  eat,  although  the  young 
man  felt  no  great  appetite.  But  the 
doctor,  in  his  own  jolly  forceful  way, 
simply  constrained  him. 

"  You  must,"  he  said,  "  for  proba- 
bly you'll  have  to  be  up  all  night ; 
and  a  hearty  meal  is  indispensable  in 
preparing  to  sit  up  all  night.  So 
come  in ! " 

And  he  haled  him  forth  of  the  of- 
fice into  the  comfortable  dining  room, 
and  presented  him  to  Mrs.  Veroil,  a 
comfortable  smiling  dame,  and  to  his 
two  plump  children ;  and  while  he 
prescribed  and  administered  abun- 
dant and  succulent  viands  he  told  him 
whatever  was  to  be  told. 

This  was,  in  short,  that  Mr.  Button 
had  all  of  a  sudden  and  without  visi- 
ble cause,  warned  Mr.  Van  Braam  to 
quit  the  house  where  he  was  living, 
in  consequence  of  alleged  intended 
improvements ;  and  at  the  same  time 
the  insurance  secretaryship  from 
which  the  old  gentleman  had  drawn 
his   support,   had    also    been    taken 


away  from  him,  undoubtedly  by  Mr. 
Button's  means.  These  misfortunes, 
amounting  to  instantaneous  ruin  for 
a  man  so  old,  so  poor  and  so  nearly 
friendless,  had  come  upon  him  when 
if  not  ill,  he  was  somewhat  indis- 
posed, and  had  aggravated  his  com- 
plaint into  something  so  much  like  a 
typhoid  fever  that  it  might  be  a  ques- 
tion whether  his  ailment  was  not 
really  such  a  fever,  produced  by  the 
unhealthy  air  of  his  house.  If  he 
had  a  place  to  go  to,  the  doctor  con- 
cluded, it  would  be  the  best  thing 
that  could  happen  to  him  to  be  driv- 
en neck  and  crop  out  of  that  old 
shanty. 

As  Dr.  Veroil  thus  recounted,  it 
flashed  across  Adrian's  mind  that 
Mr.  Stanley  must  after  all  have  sent 
Mr.  Button  the  information  in  the 
old  account-book.  Stanley's  rather 
mischievous  disposition,  and  his  bit- 
ter contemptuous  dislike  of  Mr.  But- 
ton had,  if  this  was  the  case,  prevailed 
over  his  love  of  keeping  a  secret  ; 
there  was  no  reason  to  suppose  that 
he  had  thought  that  any  evil  would 
enure  to  any  third  parties. 

As  Dr.  Veroil  made  no  allusion  to 
that  other  matter  which  had  been  ex- 
pressly left  in  charge  of  himself  and 
Mr.  Bird  the  police  reporter,  Adrian 
also  refrained  in  like  manner.  He 
did  indeed,  as  the  doctor's  narrative 
closed,  give  one  inquiring  look,  which 
however  the  physician  answered  by 
an  almost  imperceptible  shake  of  the 
head  and  contraction  of  the  eyebrows. 
Adrian  therefore  inquired  only  about 
Mr.  Button's  prosperity  in  general. 
His  business,  the  doctor  answered, 
went  on  as  usual ;  his  political  pros- 
pects were  understood  to  be  begin- 
ning to  brighten,  as  he  was  to  have  a 
nomination  for  member  of  Congress 
at  an  election  about  to  take  place  to 
fill  a  vacancy  in  his  district. 


214 


Scrope 


The  Lost  Lihrary. 


When  dinner  was  over,  the  doctor 
summoned  Adrian  into  his  office  and 
gave  him  final  directions  about  Mr. 
Van  Braam,  their  substance  being 
that  as  the  old  man  was  in  a  very 
weak  state,  it  was  for  the  immediate 
present  critically  important  that  his 
tonics  should  be  frequently  and  punc- 
tually administered.  He  (the  doctor) 
was  to  look  in,  if  possible,  before  bed- 
time, and  at  any  rate  in  good  season 
in  the  morning,  and  hoped  to  find 
every  thing  going  on  well.  He  wanted 
Civille  to  rest  well  for  a  few  nights, 
he  added,  or  else  she  would  be  down 
sick  too.  And  then  he  said  that  as 
to  the  other  matter,  Mr.  Bird  had 
told  him  that  the  thefts  at  several  of 
the  largest  retail  dry-goods  houses 
had  begun  again  a  week  or  two  ago, 
and  that  measures  were  concerted  to 
detect  the  criminals,  though  so  far 
nobody  had  been  caught  except  a  few 
of  the  ordinary  shop-lifters.  And  he 
added,  that  of  course  considerations 
connected  with  these  affairs  had  had 
their  influence  upon  Mr.  Van  Braam  ; 
affairs  about  which,  of  course,  noth- 
ing whatever  was  to  be  said  unless  in 
case  of  absolute  necessity. 

Well  fortified,  therefore,  as  to  his 
physical  man,  but  not  so  comfortable 
in  his  mind,  Adrian  left  the  abode 
of  the  genial  doctor.  For,  no  matter 
how  ready  one  may  be  to  assist  those 
who  need,  it  is  depressing  to  feel  all 
at  once  that  it  is  upon  us  that  the 
helpless  person  is  to  be  laden. 

It  was  that  same  bitter-tempered 
Katy,  who  opened  Mr.  Van  Braam's 
door. 

"  What,  you  here  again  ? "  ex- 
claimed Adrian,  not  at  all  pleased. 

"  Yis,  what  I'm  here  agin,  sur ! " 
said  the  woman,  in  the  same  sharp 
ill-natured  manner;  but  she  seemed 
to  relent  a  little  as  she  added, 

"  But  it's  glad  of  ye  Miss  Civille 


will  be,  faith  !    Walk  in  sur,  till  I  tell 
her." 

He  entered  the  parlor,  where  there 
was  a  fire  and  a  light;  and  in  a  mo- 
ment Civille  came  in.  He  rose  to 
meet  her,  and  had  hardly  time  to  see 
how  thin,  and  white  and  weary  her 
face  looked.  Involuntarily  the  tears 
came  into  his  eyes,  and  involuntarily 
he  held  out  his  arms.  The  poor  girl,  as 
if  upheld  so  long  only  by  the  iron 
necessity  of  her  lonely  situation,  gave 
way  at  once.  She  burst  into  tears 
and  almost  fell.  He  caught  her  and 
supported  her  to  the  sofa,  and  soothed 
and  comforted  her,  stroking  her  soft 
hair  as  one  comforts  a  baby,  and  let- 
ting her  cry,  as  one  comforts  a  woman. 
"  I  knew  you  would  come,"  she  said 
at  last. 

"  1  would  have  come  before,"  said 
he;  "you  ought  to  have  sent." 

"  Until  yesterday  I  hoped  we  could 
fight  it  through  alone,"  said  she ;  "  but 
father  is  worse,  and  I  got  so  fright- 
ened ! " 

Poor  child !  She  had  never  had 
wealth,  but  her  father's  solicitous  care 
had  hitherto  kept  her  in  comfort. 
Her  wealthy  friends  had  always  treat- 
ed her  with  that  kind  of  civility 
which  we  confer  upon  agreeable  infe- 
riors who  don't  ask  us  for  any  thing; 
and  this,  her  sweet  nature  took  it  for 
granted^  was  affection.  She  felt  a 
real  affection  for  them;  and  the  most 
genuine  affection  is  the  first  to  believe 
in  the  genuineness  of  a  response.  Now, 
all  at  once  a  great  distress  came,  as  if 
an  earthquake  were  shaking  the  very 
ground  away  from  under  her  feet,  and 
it  was  as  if  everybody  ran  away  on 
purpose  to  leave  her  to  fall  into  the 
pit. 

"I  did  not  think  Ann  would  have 
treated  me  so,"  said  she,  crying  quiet- 
ly. "  I  loved  her ;  and  I  love  her 
now.     It  was  not  just  because  they 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


215 


were  all  cousins.  I  don't  see  how 
they  could  do  so.  But  Ann  actually- 
refused  to  recognize  me  in  the  street, 
and  so  did  her  mother.  Oh,  if  I  had 
become  suddenly  infamous,  and  good 
people  had  cast  me  out,  I  know  how 
it  would  have  felt !  " 

"  Well,  dear,"  said  Adrian,  "  Doctor 
Veroil  will  stand  by  us.  He's  a  man  ! 
And  as  long  as  my  aunt  and  I  own 
that  little  old  house  in  Hartford,  we 
shall  all  have  a  roof  over  our  heads  at 
at  any  rate.  And  Civille,  —  I  don't 
think  it  would  even  make  my  hand 
tremble  in  smoothing  your  hair  —  how 
silky  and  fine  it  is  —  if  you  should  be- 
come suddenly  infamous,  as  you  call  it. 
You  can't  be  any  thing  to  me  except 
what  I  know  you  to  be,  Civille.  I 
defy  you  to  change." 

"  I  don't  want  to,  Adrian,"  she  said, 
simply  ;  "  and  I  feel  better  to  have  you 
pet  me  a  little,"  she  added,  content- 
edly, and  almost  nestling  to  his  side; 
"  I  am  not  to  be  afraid  of  you,  you 
know,  and  you  are  to  help  me  now 
that  I  need  it." 

"  Yes,"  he  said  —  he  could  not  well 
have  said  less  —  or  more.  —  "  And 
now,  dear,  you  must  show  me  about 
the  nocturnal  affairs,  and  then  you 
must  go  to  bed  and  sleep  all  night." 

"I  begin  to  feel  sleepy  already, 
Adrian ;  you  can  put  me  asleep,  you 
know. —  But  that  is  not  very  compli- 
mentary." 

"  I  think  it  is,  very,"  said  he,  — 
and  indeed  the  perfect  trust  that  was 
implied  by  the  fact,  and  that  thrilled 
through  the  soft  heartfelt  voice,  all 
the  more  touchingly  because  it  was 
veiled  and  languid  with  weariness  and 
sorrow,  filled  him  with  a  happiness 
such  as  he  had  never  known  before  — 
the  happiness  of  satisfying  one  be- 
loved. 

They  went  up  stairs  to  the  sick 
room.     Mr.  Van  Braam  lay  quietly  in 


bed,  asleep ;  his  bloodless  complexion 
and  thin  high  features,  sharpened  by 
illness,  giving  him  a  deathly  appear- 
ance that  was  only  removed  on  watch- 
ing the  faint  slow  respiration.  The  ru- 
bric for  the  night  was  brief;  Give  the 
draughts  punctually  every  half  hour. 
Katy,  who  sat  silently  by  the  fire,  was 
dismissed  ;  Civille  went  away,  receiv- 
ing quietly  a  kiss  on  the  forehead  from 
Adrian,  "for  good-night ;  "  and  Adri- 
an stood  on  the  hearth-rug  a  few  mo- 
ments, observing  the  economical  ap- 
pointments of  the  room  ;  then  turned 
to  the  shelf,  where  he  found  a  few 
books,  from  which  he  selected  a  vol- 
ume of  Sainte-Beuve's  Causeries ;  and 
he  sat  himself  down  to  read,  to  think, 
and  to  make  notes. 

The  half  hour  soon  came  round,  and 
he  waked  the  patient  and  gave  him 
his  dose.  Although  the  old  gentle- 
man recognized  Adrian,  he  was  too 
weak,  apparently,  to  ask  or  even  to 
consider,  how  he  came  to  be  there  ;  he 
opened  his  eyes,  smiled  faintly,  swal- 
lowed the  draught,  made  a  feeble 
grimace  of  discomfort,  lay  down  again 
and  relapsed  into  his  immovable  con- 
dition. Adrian  wrote  down  passages 
quoted  or  written  by  the  accomplished 
French  critic,  somewhat  in  the  follow- 
ing style, 

Joubert.  "  Looked  like  a  soul  that  had 
met  a  body  somewhere  by  mere  accident, 
and  had  taken  up  with  it  and  was  doing  the 
best  he  could  with  it." 

Imperfection.  Le Sage  says,  "The beat 
people  are  those  that  have  the  fewest  vices." 
Chester  compares  the  military  observation, 
that  the  question  between  two  opposing  gen- 
erals is,  not  which  shall  make  no  mistakes, 
but  only  which  shall  make  the  fewest." 

And  so  on  :  translating,  paraphras- 
ing or  commenting,  as  the  case  may 
be  :  then  laying  down  his  book  and 
looking  at  the  fire;  then  listening  (so 
to  speak)  to  the  utter  stillness  in  the 
house.     He  had  never  tried  his  hand 


216 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


at  nursing  before,  and  he  smiled  as  he 
said  to  himself,  after  about  an  hour, 
"  I  guess  I  was  made  for  a  nurse." 
The  smile  was  first  at  the  idea,  aud 
then  at  the  insufficiency  of  the  experi- 
ence from  which  he  was  deducing  it. 

At  the  second  dosing  of  the  patient, 
he  murmured  something  about  its  be- 
ing "  nasty,"  and  a  wish  that  they'd 
"  let  him  alone."  Who  has  not  enter- 
tained sim  ilar  7:tws  about  medicines 
of  the  more  plentiful  and  frequent 
sort? 


Ah  ?     What  is  this  light  ? 

Adrian  sprang  up,  terrified  at  once 
into  springing  up  and  into  a  faintness 
that  almost  let  him  fall  down  again. 
Gleams,  a  glow  almost,  of  white  light 
were  in  the  room.  Amazed,  he  looked 
hither  and  thither,  and  choked  down, 
as  it  were,  a  shout  of  "  Fire  ! "  But 
he  sniffed  after  a  smell  of  smoke. 
There  was  none.  He  went  to  the 
window  and  looked  out.  The  gray 
pale  light  of  sunrise  was  rising  over 
the  city. 

He  looked  at  his  watch  —  he  looked 
more  than  once  —  he  compared  it 
with  Civille' s,  that  was  hung  up  over 
the  shelf;  and  as  his  senses  clarified 
themselves  and  settled  into  daylight 
order  after  about  two  minutes  of  ter- 
ror and  confusion,  his  reflection  upon 
his  eminent  capabilities  for  the  nurs- 
ing business  came  into  his  mind  with 
a  queer  mixture  of  shame  and  fright, 
along  with  the  recognition  of  its  ironic 
if  not  direct  justness. 

But  the  patient? 

With  feelings  not  entirely  unlike 
those  which  may  be  supposed  to  have 
occupied  the  late  William  Tell  on 
finding  that  abilities  of  his  own  have 
brought  upon  him  the  risk  of  killing 
his   son,    Adrian   looked    across   the 


room  at  Mr.  Van  Braam.  He  could 
not  see  him  distinctly  from  where  he 
stood;  and  it  required  a  strong  effort 
before  he  could  bring  himself  to  walk 
across  to  the  bed.  The  old  man  had 
turned  over  and  lay  flat  on  his  face. 
"  The  last  struggle  "  thought  Adrian 
—  "and  I  to  confess  to  Civille  ! "  — 
But  the  necessity  of  the  case  was  su- 
preme, and  with  a  thrill  of  horror  he 
laid  his  hand  on  the — No,  not  the 
corpse ! 

At  the  touch,  the  old  man  moved 
in  the  bed.  Still  less  is  it  possible  to 
express  the  relief,  than  the  horror,  of 
this  so  gifted  guardian  of  the  sick. 
Turning  his  haggard  and  bony  old 
countenance  out  sideways,  Mr.  Van 
Braam  asked, 


-  What. 


again 


Adrian  cried  and  laughed. 

"  I'm  better,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man.    "  I  must  have  slept." 

He  was  really  so  much  refreshed 
that  Adrian  ventured  to  confess  his 
unfaithfulness.  Mr.  Van  Braam 
would  have  laughed  outright,  had  he 
been  strong  enough.  As  it  was,  he 
could  only  smile  ;  but  his  next  words 
showed  that  his  wits  were  not  en- 
feebled, though  his  body  might  be. 
He  still  spoke  very  low  and  but  few 
words  at  a  time. 

"Don't  tell  a  soul. — Veroil  would 
kill  you. — Good  nurse,  Adrian!  — 
Just  what  I  wanted.  —  Pour  the  stuff 
behind  the  fire.  —  Don't  scare  Civille 
—  Poor  child  !  " 

So  Adrian  carefully  poured  a  proper 
quantity  of  the  tonic  mixture  amongst 
the  ashes,  freshened  up  the  decaying 
fire;  put  out  the  expiring  lamp;  re- 
placed the  volume  of  M.  Sainte-Beuve 
upon  the  mantle-piece ;  made  a  hasty 
toilet ;  and  assisted  his  patient  to  do 
the  same. 

With  his  face  washed  and  his  hair 
nicely  brushed,  Mr.  Van  Braam  looked 


Capt  Dorr  and  Mr.  Muir.  217 

quite  comfortable,  and  asked  how  fined  at  the  waist  by  a  pretty  belt. 
Adrian  came  to  be  there;  and  Adrian  She  looked  at  her  father: 
had  just  answered  that  Dr.  Veroil  "  Why  !  "  —  and  she  bent  over  the 
had  summoned  him,  when  there  was  dear  old  man  with  a  graceful  ges- 
a  soft  knock  at  the  door,  and  Adrian  ture,  and  caressing  his  white  head 
admitted  Civille.  As  things  were,  he  with  both  hands,  she  kissed  his  fore- 
felt  at  liberty  to  admire  her  morning  head  again  and  again,  and  then  looked 
dress,  a  loose  gown  of  soft  shimmer-  at  Adrian  with  such  a  solemn  loving 
ing  dark  gray  stuff,  with  a  narrow  brightness  in  the  deep  lucid  gray  eyes  ! 
white  lace  about  the  neck,  and  con-  Then  she  sat  down  and  cried  a  little. 


218 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


PART  XII. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

"Come,"  said  Civille,  brightening 
up  in  a  minute  or  two  —  "  what  am  I 
crying  for  ?  —  Adrian,  you  must  go 
and  have  a  good  sleep,  you  dear  good 
cousin,  and  then  you  shall  have  some 
breakfast.  —  What  are  you  laughing 
at  ?     You  too,  father  ?  " 

"Why,"— said  Adrian,  "at  the 
idea  of  my  ever  having  to  sleep.  I 
am  the  he-Melusina ;  I  never  sleep." 

Civille  looked  puzzled.  "  Tell  her, 
Adrian,"  said  the  old  man,  feebly. 
With  some  hesitation,  Adrian  did  so, 
to  her  immense  surprise  and  content- 
ment. But  they  agreed  with  one 
consent  not  to  inform  their  respected 
physician. 

So  the  two  young  folks  had  break- 
fast together,  Katy  remaining  with 
the  sick  man  the  while.  Civille  did 
the  honors  of  the  table,  and  while 
Adrian  ate  and  drank,  he  enjoyed 
still  more  than  the  delicately  served 
viands,  her  neat-handed,  graceful 
ways,  her  innocent  happy  chat,  her 
gracious  sunshiny  presence.  And 
they  had  abundance  of  topics  to  dis- 
cuss. 

For  instance : 

Adrian-.  Very  jolly  coffee,  Civille. 
I  say  coffee.  If  it  were  dandelion  or 
rye  or  chicory  I  should  be  brutal 
enough  to  say  so,  I  am  afraid.  A 
cheat  in  coffee  is  next  door  but  one  to 
murdering  a  baby. 

Civille.     Oh,  don't !     Poor  little 


thing !  Well,  it  ought  to  be  good ; 
I  made  it  myself. 

A.  Tell  me  how  your  father 
came  to  be  ill. 

C.  He  has  been  a  little  ailing  for 
some  time.  I  have  sometimes 
thought  he  was  excited  about  this 
Scrope  estate  business ;  for  he  has 
never  seemed  quite  .well  since  the 
very  evening  when  you  and  Mr. 
Scrope  met  here  and  talked  about  it. 

A.  (Remembering  that  that  was 
the  evening  when  the  detective  Olds 
had  called  on  Mr.  Van  Braam,  but 
not  telling  Civille  so.)  Hasn't  he  ? 
Well ;  I'd  rather  attribute  his  illness 
to  an  expectation  than  to  my  own 
call,  certainly.  And  these  questions 
of  genealogy  and  inheritance  have  an 
immense  interest  for  some  people. 

C.  But  father  attended  to  his 
business,  although  I  know  he  didn't 
feel  well,  until  two  or  three  days 
after  you  wrote  me  about  that  old 
account  book.  Then  he  came  home 
one  evening,  all  broken  down,  and 
went  to  bed;  and  he  hasn't  got  up 
since.  (Here  Civille  began  to  cry 
quietly,  —  the  tears  slowly  dropping 
one  after  another  ;  but  her  voice  only 
trembled  a  little,  as  she  went  on :)  I. 
thought  my  dear  father  was  going  to 
die. 

A.  Oh,  Civille,  don't  cry,  please. 
It  hurts  me. 

C.  (Wiping  her  eyes.)  Well,  I 
won't.  But  it  does  me  good  some- 
times to  cry  a  little.     You  see,  that 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


219 


very  day  when  he  came  home,  he  had 
received  notice  that  he  must  lose  his 
secretaryship  and  move  out  of  this 
house.  I  don't  know  why  he  should 
have  felt  it  so  intensely,  I'm  sure. 
He  and  I  have  been  poor  enough, 
and  long  enough,  not  to  be  frightened 
at  that.  But  he  kept  talking  that 
evening,  and  afterwards  too,  about  its 
being  so  bard  for  me.  I  couldn't  un- 
derstand it.  ["  Poor  thing !  I  do," 
said  Adrian  to  himself.]  I  think  it 
was  the  Scrope  estate  business  and 
these  other  things  coming  so,  all  to- 
gether, that  made  him  ill.  I  told  him 
then  what  you  had  written,  of  course. 
He  said  it  was  no  wonder  Mr.  Button 
kicked  him  out,  —  he  had  no  doubt 
Mr.  Button  felt  as  if  he  had  been  de- 
liberately cheated  on  system.  So  we 
must  go,  as  soon  as  he  can  move. 

A.     Well ;  I'll  help  you. 

C.  I  know  you  will.  —  It  was 
very  sweet  of  you  to  come.  —  I  felt  as 
if  every  thing  would  be  right,  the 
minute  I  saw  you;  and  when  I  had 
left  you  with  father  I  went  right  to 
sleep  as  quietly  as  any  baby. 

A.  Even  Mr.  Button  won't  trou- 
ble you  until  your  father  can  be 
moved.  Then  we  will  find  a  place 
to  stay,  and  look  round  a  little.  The 
world  is  wide,  particularly  New 
York. 

C.     Adrian :  —  I    heard    you    call 


that 


You   look    sur- 


prised ?  Well,  if  it  was  not  you  that 
I  heard,  it  was  a  curious  coincidence 
that  I  should  have  fancied  it  exactly 
at  the  time.  You  know  you  wrote 
me  the  almanac  difference  of  time  for 
Hartford  and  New  York.  Was  that 
so  as  to  find  out  whether  I  heard 
you? 

A.  No.  I  only  wrote  just  what 
came  into  my  head.  But  I  know 
this :  when  I  spoke  your  name  that 
night  I  felt  as  if  I  spoke  to  you. 


C.  I  was  sitting  here  by  the  fire, 
and  father  was  asleep  in  his  chair.  I 
had  been  singing  a  little,  and  I  guess 
I  had  been  thinking  I  would  like  to 
have  j'ou  here  instead  of  Mr.  Bird 
and  Mr.  Scrope  — 

A.  Why, — beg  pardon — hasn't 
Scrope  gone  back  to  England  ? 

C.  Yes ;  he  sailed  a  day  or  two 
afterwards.  Well ;  they  had  both 
come  and  gone,  first  Mr.  Scrope  and 
then  Mr.  Bird,  and  so  I  was  left 
alone.  I  had  dropped  my  work  and 
was  sitting  thinking,  and  all  at  once 
it  was  as  if  a  distant  voice  called  me. 
—  Civille  !  —  It  was  like  your  voice, 
I  thought,  but  sorrowful,  as  if  you 
sighed.  It  startled  me ;  but  there 
was  nobody.  And  I  couldn't  hear 
wherefrom  it  came.  It  was  as  if  it 
was  from  deep  in  my  own  brain.  I 
went  and  asked  Katy ;  she  had  not 
spoken.  So  I  concluded  I  had  dozed 
and  dreamed  it,  until  your  letter 
came.  I  remembered  the  time,  be- 
cause father  woke  up  as  I  went  out, 
and  asked,  and  I  told  him. 

A.  I  hope  it  was  my  voice  you 
heard,  and  I  mean  to  believe  it  was. 
There  are  plenty  of  questions  where 
preference  of  belief  is  good  ground  of 
belief.  Well;  has  Mr.  Bied  offered 
himself  yet,  Civille  ? 

Civille  blushed,  and  opened  her 
mouth  to  answer.  Katy  however  at 
that  moment  came  in  to  say  that  Mr. 
Van  Braam  would  have  a  slice  of  toast 
and  some  tea.  So  Civille  told  her  to 
clear  away  the  things  and  have  her 
own  breakfast,  and  herself  prepared 
her  father's  breakfast,  giving  Adrian 
the  newspaper,  which  he  said  he  would 
read,  and  then,  if  she  or  her  father 
had  any  errands  to  be  done,  he  was 
at  their  service. 

He  had  just  perused  an  account  of 
the  nomination,  the  evening  before, 
of  Tarbox  Button  Esq.,  for  the  vacant 


220 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


place   of  representative   in  Congress 

from  the District  of  New  York, 

when  a  chopping  and  banging  in  the 
yard  interrupted  him.  Looking  out, 
he  saw  four  workmen,  two  of  whom 
were  beginning  to  cut  down  two  trees, 
and  the  two  others,  with  axe  and 
crow-bar,  were  tearing  down  the  old 
paling  at  the  side  of  the  house,  be- 
tween the  yard  and  the  vacant  grass- 
ground  outside.  Running  out,  Adrian 
found  that  they  were  sent  by  a  person 
with  whom  Mr.  Button  had  contracted 
to  tear  down  the  house  this  day. 

"  But  there's  a  sick  man  in  there 
that  wasn't  expected  to  live,  and  who 
can't  be  moved,"  exclaimed  Adrian, 
in  a  rage.  "  Did  Mr.  Button  tell  you, 
if  you  found  an  old  man  very  sick  in 
the  house,  to  murder  him  ?  " 

"  Don't  know  nothin'  bout  it,  boss," 
said  the  chief  of  the  band,  roughly 
but  good-naturedly  enough.  "  No 
xpress  orders  to  murder  anybody, 
furzino,  but  mighty  strick  to  git  this 
old  place  cleaned  off  right  away." 

After  some  further  parleying,  Adri- 
an succeeded  in  negotiating  a  delay, 
on  condition  however  that  he  should 
pay  for  the  four  days'  works,  which, 
the  men  said,  they  would  otherwise 
lose,  until  he  could  see  Mr.  Button 
and  secure  a  delay.  It  is  true  that 
they  would  doubtless  not  have  abso- 
lutely torn  the  roof  down  over  the 
helpless  family,  like  a  British  land- 
owner evicting  a  tenant,  but  the  trees, 
fences  and  outbuildings  would  have 
supplied  materials  for  some  hours  of 
destruction  noisy  enough  to  greatly 
injure  Mr.  Van  Braam  in  his  weak 
state. 

So  the  men  shouldered  arms  and 
marched,  and  Adrian,  in  a  good  deal 
of  indignation  returned  to  the  parlor, 
where  he  found  Civille  waiting.  He 
explained  the  occurrence,  with  terse 
remarks  upon  its  ethical  aspect. 


But  Civille,  with,  her  own  sweet- 
ness of  heart,  sought  for  excuses. 
Mr.  Button  did  not  know  of  her 
father's  illness;  or  his  directions  to 
wait  had  been  forgotten  or  neglected. 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Adrian,  "any  thing 
except  to  admit  <  that  anybody  does 
wrong.  You  enrage  me,  Civille.  Don't 
for  goodness'  sake  be  too  bright  or 
good  for  human  nature's  daily  food. 
If  you  will  be  so  very  heavenly,  you'll 
be  crucified,  sure."  And  he  laughed 
at  his  own  wrath,  and  continued  : 

"  But  now  I  must  hurry  down  and 
see  about  it.  — But  Civille,  you  didn't 
answer  my  question.  Did  Bird  offer 
himself?" 

She  blushed  a  little,  but  answered, 
with  her  own  natural  —  yet  odd  — 
directness, 

"  Yes  ;  Mr.  Scrope  did  too.  I  know 
you  won't  tell,  Adrian." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  wonder. 
Yes,  —  I  do.  I  don't  at  their  want- 
ing you,  but  I  do  at  their  fancying 
themselves  good  enough  for  you." 

Then  he  blushed,  as  he  perceived 
the  elegant  compliment  he  was  pay- 
ing to  himself.  —  "I  mean,  dear,  no- 
body is  good  enough  for  you.  As  to 
Scrope,  I  guess  he  is  conceited  enough 
to  think  he's  good  enough  for  any- 
body. But  Bird's  a  fellow  of  great 
sense,  though  he's  not  very  cultivated. 
I  don't  understand  it.  Well,  I  must 
go  —  any  errands  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  must  run  out  myself  a 
little  while ;  I  want  Doctor  Veroil  to 
come  early,  and  I  must  go  and  tell 
him." 

So  Adrian  went  off,  appointing  to 
return  as  soon  as  he  should  effect 
the  proposed  arrangement  with  Mr. 
Button ;  and  all  the  way  down  to 
the  office,  he  meditated  with  the 
queerest  mixture  of  feelings,  on  Ci- 
ville's  three  offers,  which,  he  remem- 
bered   he    had    prophesied    out    of 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


221 


Mother  Goose  on  the  evening  when 
he  had  accompanied  his  rivals  from 
the  house.  '"We're  three  brethren 
out  of  Spain,'  he  recited.  —  Well, 
she  has  made  us  all  walk  Spanish,  at 
any  rate  ;  and  we  can  all  go  back  to 
our  Spanish  castles.  A  proper  fate 
for  men  with  no  better  estates  !  "  But 
her  lovely  figure  and  exceeding  grace 
in  the  simple  morning  dress,  a  cer- 
tain dainty  delicacy  in  the  little 
ministrations  of  the  breakfast  table, 
an  especial  tenderness  of  manner 
which  had  perhaps  arisen  upon  her 
from  her  sorrow  over  her  father, 
insomuch  that  even  if  she  was  gay, 
it  seemed  as  if  tears  were  thrilling 
through  under  all  her  heartfelt  tones, 
and  most  of  all,  the  unconscious 
trustfulness  with  which  she  reposed 
in  his  help,  all  these  influences  filled 
the  strong  young  fellow  with  an 
emotion  that  returned  and  returned 
upon  him  without  end,  as  the  ceaseless 
sea-waves  follow  and  follow  up  the 
beach.  He  did  not  understand  it, 
nor  try  to  ;  but  he  found  a  measure- 
less pleasure  in  the  full  silent  con- 
sciousness that  if  any  efforts  of  his 
could  save  Civille  from  all  trouble, 
or  any  trouble,  the  effort  should  be 
made ;  and  the  strength  of  his  sense 
of  devoteclness  translated  itself  into 
a  feeling  that  it  would  succeed. 

"  Wal ! " 

There  was  a  whole  chapter,  —  a 
whole  volume,  —  of  unwelcoming 
contemptuous  angry  surprise  in  the 
frown,  the  twist  of  the  mouth,  the 
falling  inflection,  the  sharp  harsh 
bark,  of  Mr.  Button,  when  looking 
up,  he  saw  Adrian  enter  his  back 
office.  Nor  did  he  offer  him  a  seat, 
nor  hold  out  his  hand.  Adrian  was 
angry  enough  before.  The  discourte- 
sy enraged  him  so  much  that  perhaps 
it   even   steadied   him ;    to   his   own 


surprise,  he  felt  quite  calm  and 
rather  inclined  to  smile.  He  made 
a  polite  bow,  said  "  How  d'ye  do, 
Mr.  Button  ?  "  and  took  a  chair  him- 
self, saying, 

"Sha'n't  detain  you  more  than  a 
moment." 

"  That's  so.     Got  to  go  anyway." 

"  Mr.  Van  Braam  is  very  ill  in- 
deed, Mr.  Button  —  they  were  afraid 
he  wouldn't  live — it's  impossible  to 
move  him.  Now  I  want  you  to  call 
off  your  dogs,  and  let  the  old  house 
alone  for  a  few  days  ;  if  you  please." 

"  Hmh !  Live  ?  He'll  live  fast 
enough's  long's  he's  got  somebody  to 
live  on.  Live  on  you,  'f  ye  had 
any  thing.  Had  to  let  go  o'  me,  I 
guess,  is  what  made  him  sick.  You 
goin  to  take  him  up  ?  " 

"  I've  resigned  my  place  at  Hart- 
ford —  at  least  if  the  Board   chooses 

—  and  you  know  I  can't  support 
many  people  on  my  investments." 

"  Keckon  not.  Wal  —  the  house. 
I  don't  know  nothin  'bout  it  —  Oh, 
yes  I  do,  —  contracted  with  what's- 
his-name  to  pull  it  down.  Yes  — 
'twas  to-day,  sure  enough.  Forgot 
all  about  it  —  I'll  see  what  can  be 
done.  You  may  come  and  see  me 
this  evening  about  it.  But  I  don't 
owe  no  favors  to  any  on  ye,  young 
man." 

"  Any  of  me  ?  "  asked  Adrian  with 
a  smile,  —  "  there's  only  one  of  me." 

Mr.  Button  gave  a  snort  of  irrita- 
tion. "Hmh!  You  knew  what  I 
meant.  Fact  is,  I  wouldn't  git  back 
agin  into  your  family  connection  if  I 
could.  I've  got  other  fish  to  fry. 
Your  swindling,  cunning  Scrope's 
welcome  to  my  five  hundred  dollars,  — 
's  long's  I  can't  git  none   on't  back, 

—  guess  all  you  git  of  the  Scrope 
estate  amongst  ye  you  c'n  put  in 
your  ear.  I  won't  trust  another  one 
o'   that   crowd,  though,  any  furfher 


222 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


than  I  c'n  swing  an  elephant  by  the 
tail  —  I  c'n  tell  ye  that ! " 

There  was  something  antipathetic 
in  the  natures  of  the  two  men  that 
made  them  intensely  irritating  to 
each  other.  Adrian  had  never  been 
in  the  company  of  Mr.  Button  with- 
out feeling  this  more  or  less  distinctly, 
and  Mr.  Button  himself  had  shown  it 
before  by  the  rasping  anger  of  his 
reply  to  Adrian's  suggestion  about 
the  use  to  which  some  of  the  pub- 
lisher's real  estate  was  put.  Adrian's 
natural  and  acquired  good  manners 
however  prevented  him  from  very 
openly  showing  this  ;  while  Button, 
who  restrained  himself  only  from 
motives  of  interest,  was  much  more 
liable  to  lose  his  self-command.  At 
present,  enraged  as  he  was  by  the 
knowledge  which  it  was  sufficiently 
evident  he  had  obtained,  through  the 
friendly  offices  of  Mr.  Stanley,  from 
the  old  account-book,  this  new  vexa- 
tion was  added  to  his  older  ones, 
and  he  "  freed  his  mind "  with  an 
alacrity  and  fulness  of  wrath  and 
objurgation  that  boiled  out  of  him  so 
thick  and  hot  as  to  make  Adrian 
think  of  a  mud  volcano.  In  a  mo- 
ment he  broke  out  again  with  another 
mud-flow  of  vulgar  angry  bragging : 

"  I'll  let  some  on  ye  know  what's 
what,  and  what  aint !  I've  got  over 
that  are  trouble  about  my  health,  — 
I  haint  felt  as  smart  and  wide  awake 
as  I  do  this  very  day,  I  reckon  for 
ten  year!  Praps  you  didn't  see  in 
the  papers  this  morning,  that  I  was 
nominated  for  Congress  last  night,  in 
my  district?  Goin',  too  !  I  got  that 
all  fixed  before  I  took  the  nomination, 
I  can  tell  ye !  I  don't  put  my  hand 
to  the  plough  and  then  look  back  ! 
Some  time  before  you  git  into  Con- 
gress, I  guess !  Or  that  old  Van 
Braam,  either !  I  reckon  the  old 
fellow  '11  find  out  what  tis  to  have  a 


man  a  boostin  on  him !  I've  kept 
the  breath  o'  life  in  his  old  carkis, 
this  good  while." 

"  Let  not  thy  left  hand  know  what 
thy  right  hand  doeth,"  quoted  Adri- 
an quietly. 

"  Hmh  !  "  again,  snorted  the  wrath- 
ful capitalist,  with  a  toss  of  his  head 
like  an  angry  beast  that  is  hit  sharply 
over  the  snout  —  "  Hmh  !  Yes  :  and 
I've  got  my  own  business  in  good 
shape  too,  no  thanks  to  you,  young 
man !  And  so  you've  resigned  your 
place  ?  Fourth  of  July  at  your  house 
every  day,  now,  hay?  Wal, — have 
your  own  way.  But  I  must  go.  I'm 
a  goin  to  ketch  that  are  thief  that 
Jenks  &  Trainor  and  the  detectives 
cant  git  hold  of;  nor  Bird  nei- 
ther." 

"  Why,  pray  what  put  that  into 
your  head  ? "  asked  Adrian,  sur- 
prised. 

"  Wal,  I  got  talkin'  with  Jenks 
and  Bird  about  it  tother  day,  and 
they  sorter  confessed  they  was  beat, 
and  I  bantered  'em  to  let  me  try,  and 
they  took  me  up.  I'm  to  have  two 
chances ;  first  experiment  this  morn- 
ing." 

Here  he  looked  at  his  watch,  and 
jumping  up,  bade  Adrian  good  day 
with  somewhat  less  gruffness,  now 
that  he  had  relieved  his  mind,  saying 
"  I  don't  wish  you  no  harm,  Adrian, 
but  you  haint  showed  much  judg- 
ment, 'cordin  to  me,  in  a  business 
point  of  view  —  good  morning,  —  I'm 
behind  my  time  now."  And  he  hur- 
ried out,  entered  a  hack  which  was 
waiting  for  him,  and  drove  off. 

Adrian  followed,  more  leisurely, 
inquiring  in  his  own  mind  how  it 
could  be  that  he  seemed  to  have 
mounted  through  his  very  wrath 
itself  to  a  region  above  it,  as  travel- 
lers ascend  above  the  region  of  clouds. 
Still,  he  felt  that  Button  was  not  a 


Scrope  ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


223 


person  to  be  angry  with,  except  as 
one  might  he  angry  with  a  polar  bear 
or  a  man-eating  shark.  As  he  went 
musing  along,  some  one  seized  his 
hand  and  sung  out,  in  a  jolly  tone, 

"  Why,  how  are  you  ?  Last  man 
I  expected  to  see,  but  just  the  one  I 
am  glad  to  see." 

It  was  the  good  natured  book 
dealer,  Mr.  Andrew  Purvis,  whose 
shop  was  near  by.  Adrian,  after  his 
first  surprise,  returned  his  greeting 
with  cordiality,  and  asked  whether 
he  could  do  any  thing  for  Mr.  Purvis. 
jSTo,  the  dealer  said,  but  added  a 
special  request  to  Adrian  to  look  in 
at  his  place  that  day  or  the  next,  as, 
he  added,  there  was  a  little  matter  of 
business  about  which  he  wanted  to 
see  Adrian ;  unless  he  could  come 
now? 

But  an  idea  which  popped  into 
Adrian's  mind  just  as  Purvis  met 
him,  caused  him  to  appoint  the  next 
day  instead  of  the  present  moment, 
and  shaking  hands,  they  parted. 
This  idea  was,  to  hurry  after  Mr. 
Button  at  once  and  to  hire  the  old 
house  of  him  for  a  week,  purely  as  a 
matter  of  business.  In  his  peculiarly 
ugly  state  of  mind,  Adrian  reflected, 
he  might  even  insist  upon  going  for- 
ward with  his  demolition ;  and  al- 
though the  sick  man  might  survive 
an  immediate  removal,  what  an  out- 
rage and  inconvenience  together ! 
Whereas,  also,  it  is  the  nature  of  a 
thorough  business  man  never  to  refuse 
to  consider  a  business  proposition, 
never  to  refuse  to  conclude  it  if  profit- 
able, never  to  let  his  evil  passions  or 
his  good  ones  either,  interfere  or  mix 
with  his  business.  A  thorough  busi- 
ness man  will  not  sell  to  a  church  or 
a  charity  for  one  cent  less  than  to  a 
gambler  or  any  other  speculator  :  he 
may  afterwards  make  the  church  or 
the    charity   a    gift   of  some   of  the 


money.  And  Mr.  Button  prided 
himself  upon  being  a  thorough  busi- 
ness man. 

But  where  to  find  him?  At 
Jenks  and  Trainor's,  probably.  The 
affair  should  be  closed  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. However,  concluded  the  young 
man,  I'll  go  back  first  and  see  how 
Mr.  Van  Braam  gets  along,  how 
Civille  is,  and  what  the  doctor  says. 
How  pleased  he  will  be  at  the  effects 
of  his  old  drugs  ! 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

So  he  speeded  back  to  the  old 
house — if  the  crawling  of  a  horse- 
car  can  be  called  speed  —  as  fast  as 
he  could..  Doctor  Veroil's  coupe  was 
before  the  door,  and  Adrian  entered, 
and  went  up  to  Mr.  Van  Braam's 
room. 

"  A  capital  recovery  !  "  said  the 
physician,  after  salutations,  —  "  we'll 
have  him  as  lively  as  a  kitten  in  five 
days.     But  what  a  constitution  ! " 

"  But  what  a  doctor  !  "  said  Adrian, 
with  an  air  of  grave  admiration. 

"Oh,  thanks!"  said  Dr.  Veroil, 
with  a  proper  modesty.  "  No  doubt 
I  know  what  I'm  about ;  but  it's  a 
fine  thing  to  have  nature  help  us,  all 
the  same.  Mr.  Van  Braam  is  not  so 
very  strong,  muscularly,  but  it  is  rare 
to  see  the  recuperative  power  so  elas- 
tic and  so  prompt  in  a  man  of  his 
age.  It's  a  pity  to  have  to  give  him 
medicine  !" 

"  It  is,"  commented  Adrian  again, 
as  gravely  as  ever. 

"Where's  Civille?"  said  the  old 
man. 

"She  went  out  after  breakfast," 
said  Kate,  who  was  in  the  room. 
Adrian  was  surprised  that  Dr.  Veroil 
did  not  mention  her  call  at  his  office, 
and  after  waiting  a  moment,  he  said,' 

"  She  told  me  she  was  going  to  call 


221 


Scrojie ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


at  your  office,  doctor,  and  then  come 
right  back." 

Doctor  Veroil  looked  at  Adrian, 
surprised  in  his  turn.  Then  he 
glanced  at  the  old  gentleman,  who 
looked  anxious,  then  he  cast  a  signifi- 
cant glance  at  Adrian,  and  said, 

"  Oh,  yes  :  she  just  looked  in,  and 
she  was  so  tired  out  and  pale  that  I 
gave  her  a  peremptory  order  to  ride 
up  to  the  Central  Park  and  sit  or 
walk  a  little  in  the  fresh  air  there,  as 
it's  so  pleasant  to-day,  and  try  to  get 
a  winter  rose  or  two  into  her  cheeks 
for  dinner  time." 

"Very  good  advice,  doctor,"  said 
the  old  man. 

Veroil  now  gave  some  directions, 
and  after  repeating  his  encouraging 
predictions  to  the  old  man,  went  out, 
hut  as  he  went,  he  made  a  sign  to 
Adrian  to  follow  him,  and  went  down 
into  the  parlor.  Turning  short  round 
as  soon  as  he  was  within  the  door,  he 
showed  to  Adrian  a  startled  face. 

"  But  I  haven't  seen  Civille  ! "  he 
said. 

A  comparison  of  the  hours  showed 
that  she  should  have  been  at  the  doc- 
tor's office  at  least  three  quarters  of 
an  hour  before  he  left  it  for  his  usual 
morning  round. 

"  Can  she  have  gone  to  Mr.  But- 
ton's for  anything  ?  "  said  Adrian. 

"Hardly,"  said  the  doctor;  "those 
women  cut  her  the  other  day  in  the 
street.  She's  that  kind  that  she  will 
be  hunting  excuses  for  them,  but  I 
don't  think  she'll  go  right  into  their 
—  pen,"  he  concluded,  in  one  of  his 
sudden  rages. 

"  But  what  can  it  mean,  then  ?  " 
said  Adrian,  who  began  to  be  troubled, 
in  proportion  as  he  saw  the  annoy- 
ance of  the  doctor. 

"Well,"  said  Veroil,  "  there's  no  use 
in  hiding  anything  between  you  and 
me.     I  told  the  first  straight  story 


that  came  into  my  head  to  make  the 
old  man  comfortable.  His  misery 
about  her  has  done  more  to  make  him 
sick  than  anything  else.  He  is  do- 
ing splendidly,  now,  but  he  hasn't  the 
strength  of  a  child ;  and  if  anything 
should  go  wrong  with  her,  and  he 
should  know  it,  he  wouldn't  last  two 
days.  I  never  saw  one  life  so  bound 
up  in  another  —  never.  And  he  must 
be  lied  comfortable  as  long  as  is 
necessary  —  or  as  long  as  possible." 

"  Amen,"  said  Adrian  ;  "  but  what 
is  your  guess  ?  " 

"  We  must  try  the  police,  anyhow," 
said  the  doctor.  "  I  must  make  my 
calls  ;  you  must  find  her  at  once.  I'll 
give  you  a  general  letter  of  introduc- 
tion, to  keep  in  your  hands.  I  know 
so  many  people,  and  so  many  know 
me,  that  a  note  from  me  is  almost  a 
government  commission,  taking  the 
direct  and  indirect  influence  together. 
Go  first  to  Olds ;  if  he  knows  any- 
thing, so  far  so  good.  If  not,  go  to 
Mulberry  Street,  and  have  a  general 
inquiry  made  for  accident  or  arrest  of 
a  person  answering  her  description. 
As  soon  as  you  have  either  good  suc- 
cess or  bad  success,  hurry  and  tell 
me." 

The  doctor  went  to  a  side  table 
where  there  were  writing  materials, 
wrote  the  note  of  introduction  and 
gave  it  to  Adrian,  and  they  went 
softly  out  together.  As  they  did  so, 
Adrian,  in  a  low  voice,  suggested  to 
Dr.  Veroil  what  Mr.  Button  had  told 
him  of  his  proposed  thief-catching  ex- 
pedition. "  It's  a  coincidence,  doctor," 
he  said,  with  a  strong  sense  of  pain 
at  his  heart. 

"  Yes,  but  only  a  very  distant  one ; 
we  won't  discount  any  troubles,  my 
boy  ;  I  don't  propose  to  recognize  any 
speculative  horrors.  —  How  was  my 
friend  Button  this  morning?" 

"In     uncommonly    high    feather. 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


Z2& 


Said  he  hadn't  felt  so  well  this  ten 
years,  as  he  did  this  Very  day." 

Veroil  stopped  short :  "  He  did  ! " 
exclaimed  he  —  "And  a  day  or  two 
ago,  he  was  so  used  up!  Well  —  it 
may  be  all  right.     But"— ^ 

He  did  not  complete  his  sentence, 
and  going  out,  he  dashed  off  on  his 
rounds.  It  did  not  take  very  long 
for  Adrian  to  get  across  to  the  corner 
of  Broadway  and  Washington  Place, 
where  the  detective's  rooms  were.  The 
day  was  apparently  a  day  of  oppor- 
tune meetings  ;  for  as  he  passed  the 
door  of  that  great  quiet  substantial 
brick  mansion  where  Commodore 
Vanderbilt  has  lived  so  many  years, 
he  beheld  the  trim  and  active  figure 
of  Mr.  Bird  the  reporter,  just  coming 
round  from  Broadway  into  Washing- 
ton Place. 

"  Let  me  only  meet  Civille  next," 
said  the  young  man  to  himself. 

Bird  looked  quite  surprised  to  meet 
Adrian,  but  was  as  pleased,  after 
his  quiet  manner,  as  any  other  of  his 
friends  had  been.  Adrian  did  not 
hesitate  to  tell  him  the  business  in 
hand ;  and  Mr.  Bird  listened,  with 
very  evident  interest.  When  Adrian 
was  through  he  said, 

"  You  needn't  go  up  to  Olds'  room 
now ;  I've  just  been  up  there  myself, 
and  he  isn't  in.  Try  head-quarters, 
first,  and  then  come  back ;  he  may 
be  in  any  minute." 

"  Well,"  said  Adrian,  «  I  will."  As 
they  parted,  "  Stay,"  called  out 
Bird ;  "  I've  thought  of  another 
move.  I'll  give  you  a  card  to  Jenks ; 
I've  had  to  see  him  plenty  of  times 
about  shoplifters,  and  other  matters, 
and  he  knows  me  perfectly  well.  If 
any  trouble  has  been  made  by  Olds, 
Jenks  will  know  about  it;  he  is  the 
fiercest  of  them  all  about  these  thefts, 
and  I  think  you  may  save  time  by 
going  to  him  now.     If  he  has  noth- 


ing to  tell  you,  then  try  the  Mulberry 
Street  folks,  and  then  call  at  Olds' 
again,  and  then  try  back  home  ;  you 
see,  she  may  be  back  there  now,  for 
what  we  know." 

This  was  good  advice,  and  Adrian 
followed  it,  turning  back  and  taking 
a  Broadway  car  at  the  corner  of 
Washington  Place  and  Greene  Street. 
This  car  took  him  past  the  entrance 
of  Jenks  &  Trainor's  vast  estab- 
lishment on  Broadway,  some  little 
distance  above  Union  Park.  Every- 
body knows  the  monstrous  elaborate 
front,  painted  white  to  look  as  if  its 
pillars  and  panels  and  entablatures,, 
instead  of  dense  tough  iron,  were- 
carved  of  brittle  white  stone>  How- 
much  longer  will  New  York  archi- 
tects keep  on  telling  lies  with  their 
materials  ?  As  if  the  substance  of 
iron  could  look  right  within  the  forms 
of  stone!  What  is* the  natural  rela- 
tion of  form  to  matter  is  the  one 
discovery  for  which  a  genuine  nine- 
teenth-century architecture  is  wait- 
ing. 

Both  ways  at  once,  through  the 
lofty  arched  doors  of  this  vast  mart 
of  woven  things,  there  glided  two 
rivers  of  well-dressed  women.  As 
Adrian  stepped  from  the  car  to  plunge 
into  that  one  of  these  interminable 
processions  which  entered  the  sacred 
place,  he  was  startled  to  see,  in  the 
other,  Miss  Ann  Button  coming  out. 
She  did  not  see  him  ;  and  she  turned 
and  walked  up  Broadway  towards 
home.  Upon  her  features  Adrian 
could  distinguish  no  expression  in 
particular.  He  did  not  address  her, 
but  passed  on  into  the  building,  glid- 
ing along  in  the  midst  of  the  throng 
of  matrons  and  maidens,  not  with  a 
sense  of  impiety  exactly,  such  as 
Clodius  may  have  felt  while  intruding 
among  the  feminine  votaries  of  the 
Bona  Dea,  but  with  a  feeling  of  hav- 


226 


Scrope  ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


ing  no  business  there,  which  remind- 
ed him  of  the  wickeder  enterprise  of 
the  eminent  Roman  rowdy. 

At  one  side  of  the  vast  store,  a 
little  way  within  the  entrance,  there 
was  a  dense  crowd  of  clerks  and  cus- 
tomers, such  as  gathers  in  the  street 
for  the  jmrpose  of  keeping  the  fresh 
air  away  from  any  one  who  is  faint. 
"What  is  the  matter?"  he  asked  of 
a  clerk  who  was  one  of  those  on  the 
outskirts  of  this  throng.  "Don't 
know  exactly,"  said  the  young  man  ; 
"  somebody  fainted,  they  said."  — 

"  I  have  an  errand  to  Mr.  Jenks," 
said  Adrian ;  "  how  shall  I  find  him  ?  " 

"  Step  this  way,"  said  the  other, 
obligingly;  "I'll  get  the  floor-walker 
to  show  you." 

This  personage  was  a  thin  tall  man, 
with  iron-gray  hair,  severely  dressed, 
who  looked  about  him  with  keen  per- 
emptory eyes  and  walked  up  and  clown 
the  floor,  and  who  somehow  looked  to 
Adrian  like  a  broken-down  business 
man  —  perhaps  because  he  was  ;  such 
posts  are  well-known  harbors  of  refuge 
for  wrecks  from  financial  storms. 
Adrian  repeated  his  request. 

"  Show  the  gentleman  up  to  Mr. 
Spink,"  said  the  floor-walker  to  the 
clerk.  Mr.  Spink  had  a  small  den  up 
one  flight  of  stairs  ;  he  was  a  dry  little 
man  with  thin  red  hair  and  a  look  of 
conscious  authority. 

"  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Jenks,"  said 
Adrian. 

"About  what?"  said  Mr.  Spink, 
sharply. 

"  A  confidential  matter  "  said  Adri- 
an. 

"  I'm  his  confidential  clerk,"  said 
Mr.  Spink;  "you  may  mention  it  to 
me." 

Adrian  hesitated.  "  Can't  see  him 
any  other  way,"  said  Spink,  more 
peremptorily  than  ever,  —  "it's  that 
or  nothing." 


Adrian  was  greatly  inclined  to  give 
the  peremptory  man  a  beating ;  he 
knew  nothing  of  the  frantic  pressure 
of  all  sorts  of  applicants  against  which 
a  wealthy  New  Yorker  has  to  devise 
a  whole  system  of  fortifications.  But 
his  errand  was  a  guaranty  against 
unseasonable  wrath,  and  he  laid  be- 
fore this  Cerberus  with  one  red  head 
the  note  of  Dr.  Veroil  and  the  card 
of  Mr.  Bird. 

"  Ah,"  said  Mr.  Spink,  who  now 
gave  a  quick  inquiring  look  at  Adrian 
—  "yes.  That  business  —  Well,  you 
had  better  see  Mr.  Jenks,  sir.  This 
way,  please."  And  he  guided  Adrian 
along  narrow  alleys  among  intermi- 
nable piles  of  dry  goods  of  all  kinds, 
to  a  remote  corner  of  the  building, 
where  he  rapped  at  an  unobtrusive 
door.  This  opened  from  within,  and 
they  entered. 

"  Mr.  Chester,"  said  Spink,  with 
skilful  terseness,  "with  introductions." 
And  he  disappeared. 

Mr.  Jenks,  a  slender  middle-aged 
man,  nearly  bald,  and  with  a  worn 
and  over-worked  look,  sat  at  a  desk 
writing.  He  looked  up  an  instant, 
pointed  to  a  chair  close  at  the  side 
of  his  desk,  bowed  very  slightly  and 
hurriedly,  said  "  Take  seat,  please. 
One  moment,"  and  went  on  with  his 
writing.  Having  finished,  sealed  and 
addressed  a  letter,  he  sat  up  straight, 
made  a  half-face  in  his  pivot-cha:r, 
and  thus  brought  face  to  face  with 
Adrian,  said, 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  sir  ?  " 

Adrian,  always  quick  to  receive 
impressions,  felt  the  intensity  of  New 
York  business  which  was  weighing 
upon  the  merchant,  and  made  his 
communications  as  brief  as  possible. 

"Note  from  Dr.  Veroil,"  he  said; 
"  card  from  Mr.  Bird." 

"  Mr.  Spink  saw  them,"  said  Jenks, 
with  a  nod,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Spink 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


227 


gets  my  business  ready  for  me;  if 
the  introductions  had  not  been  right 
you  would  not  be  here." 

"Is  Mr.  Tarbox  Button  here?" 
said  Adrian. 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  Jenks  ;  and  tak- 
ing up  the  mouth-piece  of  a  gutta-per- 
cha speaking-tube  that  rested  on  his 
desk,  he  blew  into  it,  then  held  it  to  his 
ear,  listening  to  indistinct  murmurs  as 
from  a  shell  of  ocean,  then  mumbled 
something  into  it,  then  held  it  to  his 
ear  again,  and  then  said, 

"He  was  here.  He  has  gone  home 
ill." 

"  Where  is  Miss  Van  Braam  ? " 
asked  Adrian. 

"  Why,"  said  Jenks,  hesitatingly,  — 
"  excuse  me ;  in  whose  behalf  do  you 
inquire  ?  " 

"Her  father  has  been  at  the  point 
of  death  ;  he  is  very  ill,  and  a  little 
more  trouble  will  kill  him,"  said 
Adrian,  not  able  to  keep  his  voice 
quite  steady;  "she  has  not  been  seen 
since  she  went  out  on  an  errand  after 
breakfast,  this  morning,  meaning  to 
return  in  half  an  hour;  the  poor  old 
man  is  inquiring  after  her.  They 
have  no  friends  here,  except  Dr.  Ve- 
roil  and  myself — I  am  her  cousin. 
We  know  the  suspicions  about  her; 
and  Mr.  Bird  told  me  you  might  be 
able  to  give  me  some  information. 
Whatever  happens,  she  mustn't  be 
left  entirely  alone." 

"Mr. Mr. " 

"  Chester,"  said  Adrian. 

"  Mr.  Chester,"  said  the  merchant, 
"  nothing  could  be  more  painful  than 
to  feel  forced  to  take  such  action. 
But  we  must  protect  ourselves.  Per- 
haps you  don't  know  that  we  often 
lose  five  hundred  dollars'  worth  of 
goods  in  a  day  by  actual  theft  over 
our  counters  ?  " 

No,  Adrian  did  not. 

"  We   have   at   this  moment    two 


regular  customers  —  married  ladies, 
wives  of  wealthy  men,  —  who  steal, 
as  well  as  buy,  every  time  they  come 
into  the  store.  We  have  them 
watched,  and  we  send  their  husbands 
the  bills.  They  pay,  and  nothing  is 
said  about  it.  We  have  other  cases 
all  the  time  ;  some  professional  female 
shop-lifters,  some  respectable  women, 
— so-called,  —  who  steal ;  and  some, 
what  the  doctors  call  kleptomaniacs 
beside.  We  can't  go  into  that.  We 
must  protect  ourselves  from  theft  as 
far  as  we  can,  whatever  the  cause  of 
the  theft." 

Mr.  Jenks  paused,  like  one  who 
looks  to  see  the  effect  of  his  argu- 
ment. As  Adrian  said  nothing,  he 
resumed. 

"  I  tell  you  this,  Mr.  Chester,  con- 
fidentially; it  is  proper,  under  the 
circumstances,  that  you  should  know 
something  of  our  situation  in  the 
matter.  I  do  not  wish  you  to  sup- 
pose that  we  have  been  harsh  or  hasty 
in  what  we  have  done.  With  regard 
to  the  present  case — you  know,  I 
suppose,  that  these  kleptomaniacs 
have  very  often  all  the  cunning  of  a 
smart  thief  and  all  that  of  a  lunatic 
together? — This  makes  it,  often,  next 
to  impossible  to  detect  them  —  next 
to  impossible.  In  the  present  case, 
we  have  watched  for  months  before 
taking  any  action.  And  I  may  tell 
you  this :  your  friend  was  in  the 
habit  of  coming  with  another  young 
lady.  We  have — very  cautiously,  I 
assure  you,  and  without  compromising 
any  one,  — obtained  such  information 
from  that  young  lady  as  to  make  the 
case  next  to  absolutely  certain  —  we 
can  prove  that  some  of  our  goods  were 
found  in  your  friend's  possession. 
Now,  —  we  know  how  distressing 
such  cases  are,  —  even  now,  pro- 
vided we  could  be  satisfied,  —  guar- 
anteed, I  mean,  —  that  the  depreda- 


228 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


tions  should  cease,  we  would  discon- 
tinue all  proceedings.  As  it  is,  Mr. 
Chester,  your  friend  is  detained  with 
a  view  to  further  investigations.  But 
in  such  a  manner  as  not  to  expose  her 
publicly,  nor  to  annoy  her  more  than 
is  necessary.  We  never  go  any  fur- 
ther in  such  cases  than  we  are  abso- 
lutely forced  to  do." 

Although  in  truth  all  this  was  little 
more  than  Adrian  had  for  a  good 
while  been  trying  to  be  ready  to  hear, 
he  was  not  ready.  The  statement 
was  only  too  clear  and  well  reasoned. 
It  accordingly  did  not  affect  him  with 
anger.  The  merchant  was  evidently 
convinced  that  he  had  caught  one 
more  of  the  ordinary  run  of  respec- 
table female  thieves;  but  this  sus- 
picion, or  rather  belief,  did  not  con- 
vince Adrian.  It  is  true  that  it  did 
perhaps  make  him  a  little  more  con- 
scious of  the  possibility  —  only  the 
possibility  —  that  Civille  had  experi- 
enced some  sort  of  alienation  of  mind. 
But  this,  even  if  he  admitted  its 
existence,  he  felt,  —  he  knew,  —  was  a 
disease,  as  much  as  scarlet  fever ;  and 
temporary  in  the  same  sense. 

Thus  he  reasoned  in  his  own  mind. 
While  he  did  so,  the  merchant  turned 
to  his  desk,  and  was  instantly  ab- 
sorbed in  his  letters  again.  Once  or 
twice  a  whistle  sounded  from  one  of 
the  pipes  close  to  his  hand,  and  he 
listened  and  returned  prompt  and 
brief  decisions.  Adrian,  in  the  mean 
time,  like  one  who  has  been  stunned 
and  recovers,  gathered  up  his  scat- 
tered wits. 

"  Well,"  he  began,  — 

The  merchant  at  once  dropped  his 
pen  and  listened.  He  was  not  a  hard 
man ;  he  was  in  this  matter  only 
conducting  one  of  the  unavoidable 
accessories  of  such  a  business  as  his. 
And  he  had  been  giving  Adrian,  very 
likely,  five  hundred  dollars'  worth  of 


time,  because  the  case  was  a  hard 
case,  and  he  wished  to  be  consider- 
ate. 

"Well,  Mr.  Jenks,  I  can't  find  any 
fault  with  your  action.  But  you  will 
put  me  in  the  way  of  seeing  my  cou- 
sin, surely  ?  " 

"Yes,  —  of  course."  He  wrote  a 
few  words,  signed,  and  gave  Adrian 
the  paper.  "Hand  that  to  Mr.  Olds 
the  detective,  and  he  will  go  with  you 
to  Police  Captain  MacMurdo  at  Jef- 
ferson Market  Station,  and  one  of 
them  will  take  you  to  her.  We  have 
to  be  very  particular  about  such  mat- 
ters.    Very  sorry,  Mr. Mr. 

Good  morning."  And  before  Adrian 
had  reached  the  door,  Mr.  Jenks  was 
absorbed  in  his  work  again. 

Adrian,  hastening  down  stairs,  got 
into  a  Broadway  stage  at  the  door, 
and  sat  quietly  while  the  big  clumsy 
machine  bumped  and  hitched  and 
rumbled  in  its  senseless  unfeeling 
way,  down  the  crowded  street.  In 
his  state  of  highly  exalted  excitement, 
—  for  by  this  time  he  had  gradually 
become  excessively  impatient,  —  he 
found  himself  imagining  that  the 
driver  of  the  omnibus,  the  limping 
beasts  that  drew  it,  even  the  bulky 
and  ponderous  vehicle  itself,  were 
delaying  from  an  innate  malignity, 
from  joy  in  prolonging  his  state  of 
suffering  and  suspense.  He  wanted 
to  get  out  and  run.  He  wanted  to 
punish  the  omnibus  for  not  hurrying. 
He  wanted  to  defy  and  vanquish  each 
successive  person  who  halted  the  stage 
and  got  in.  He  sat  eagerly  looking 
forward  as  if  to  project  his  will,  like  an 
auxiliary  motive  power,  into  the  ven- 
erable-looking and  raw-boned  steeds. 
And  the  more  eager  he  was,  the  more 
deliberate  and  lumbering  was  the 
progress  of  the  stage.  It  did  however 
gradually  work  along  down  to  Four- 
teenth Street;    into  Broadway;  past 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


229 


Stewart's.  At  Eighth  Street,  how- 
ever, it  turned  suddenly  short  out 
of  Broadway  to  the  right.  Some  one, 
on  this,  pulled  the  strap,  and  when 
the  stage  stopped,  got  out.  Adrian 
followed,  and  on  reaching  the  side- 
walk, found  that  the  police  were  turn- 
ing all  the  vehicles  bound  down,  off 
by  Eighth  Street  and  Mercer  or 
Greene,  while  those  bound  up  were 
coming  out  of  East  Eighth  Street 
again  into  Broadway;  and  Broadway 
from  Eighth  Street  downward,  was 
crowded  with  people.  On  inquiring 
of  one  or  two  persons,  he  was  told 
that  the  New  York  Hotel  was  on  fire. 
A  little  way  down  the  street,  the 
chimneys  of  several  steam  fire-en- 
gines were  visible,  pouring  out  their 
characteristic  dense  swift  puffs  of 
heavy  black  pine-wood  smoke,  and 
the  gigantic  iron  chatter  of  their  hur- 
ried pumping  seemed  to  smash  the 
very  air  into  pieces.  Adrian  worked 
his  way  through  and  amongst  the 
throngs,  finding  the  crowd  more  and 
more  compact  at  every  'step.  Had 
his  errand  not  been  urgent,  he  would 
have  paused  by  each  of  the  whizzing 
throbbing  chattering  steam  giants  as 
he  came  to  it,  to  watch  the  swift  ser- 
vices of  the  engineers,  to  stand  close 
to  the  monstrous  jumping  shivering 
fiery  heart  and  feel  its  ineffable  in- 
tense thrill  and  furious  headlong 
whirling  strength.  But  he  did  not; 
although  it  did  seem  to  him  that 
their  eager  zeal  excited  him  even  more 
than  he  was  excited  already. 

As  it  was  in  the  daytime,  no  red 
glow  of  firelight  nor  quick  licking 
sheets  of  flame  shone  before  him ; 
there  was  only  a  thickening  murky 
cloud  of  black  smoke,  and  he  could 
not  tell  whether  that  came  from  a 
building  or  from  the  steamers.  He 
gradually  worked  along  down  to  the 
sidewalk  on  the  east  side  of  Broadway 


opposite  the  New  York  Hotel ;  but 
with  all  his  gazing  he  could  see  no 
signs  of  fire  in  any  part  of  its  vast 
gloomy  brick  front.  The  quiet 
Broadway  entrance  was  open,  and  he 
could  see  people  moving  about  the 
lighted  hall  within,  who  did  not  seem 
very  much  hurried,  though  two  of  the 
engines  were  jabbering  and  shivering 
close  before  the  door.  It  was  not  un- 
til, nearly  opposite  the  south-eastern 
corner  of  the  hotel,  he  came  suddenly 
upon  a  rope  barrier  which  a  strong 
cordon  of  policemen  within  it  were 
strenuously  maintaining  against  the 
incessant  pressure  of  the  crowd,  that 
he  saw  where  the  fire  actually  was. 
It  was  not  in  the  hotel  at  all  —  it  was 
in  the  tall  building  on  the  opposite 
corner  of  Washington  Place  and 
Broadway — the  building  in  which 
were  the  rooms  of  Olds  the  detective. 
The  rope  barrier  defined  a  nearly 
empty  area  in  Broadway  and  Wash- 
ington Place,  within  which  the  pave- 
ment, all  wet  and  muddy,  was  crossed 
in  many  directions  by  the  hose  of 
the  fire  department.  Here  and  there 
sharp  fine  spurts  of  water  flew  out 
through  small  faults  in  the  hose,  and 
gathered  into  puddles.  Policemen  in 
their  dark  blue  coats  and  firemen  with 
their  broad-brimmed  glazed  fire-hats, 
consulted,  stood  guard,  or  moved  about. 
Several  hose  had  been  passed  in  at 
the  Broadway  door,  and  led  up  the 
stairs  out  of  sight.  Others  were 
carried  up  on  ladders  planted  on  the 
Washington  Place  sidewalk,  and  fire- 
men at  one  or  another  window  directed 
streams  into  the  inside  of  the  build- 
ing. From  the  windows  of  the  upper 
floors,  smoke  rolled  and  poured  out 
in  vast  volumes,  and  canopied  all 
the  neighborhood ;  and  the  fizzing  of 
the  waste  spurts  from  the  hose,  the 
hiss  and  rush  of  the  streams  directed 
into  the  house,  the  orders  and  shouts 


230 


Scrope ;  or,   The  Lost  Library. 


of  the  officials,  the  voices  of  the  crowd, 
and  the  gigantic  humming,  chatter- 
ing and  coughing  of  a  dozen  steamers 
crammed  the  air  with  heterogeneous 
noises.  Beneath  the  vast  volumes  of 
dense  smoke,  the  crowd  surged  and 
squeezed  and  swore,  while  the  officers, 
with  impassive  morose  official  faces, 
ordered  and  pushed  them  hack,  totally- 
neglecting  the  hantering  or  abusive 
remonstrances  that  spattered  out  at 
them  from  those  next  the  rope. 

Adrian,  by  quiet  persistent  insin- 
uating pressure,  worked  his  way  into 
the  very  front  rank,  and  had  hardly 
given  a  single  glance  at  the  vivid 
gloomy  picture,  when  he  found  him- 
self at  the  same  moment  pushed  for- 
ward against  the  swaying  rope  bar- 
rier by  the  crowd  behind  him,  and 
shoved  backward  by  a  tall  strong 
policeman,  who  quietly  laid  his  "lo- 
cust" horizontally  across  Adrian's 
chest,  and  pushed  powerfully  against 
him,  with  both  hands,  bawling  out  in 
a  rough  strong  voice, 

"  Stand  back  !  You  must  stand 
back,  gentlemen !  Make  more  room 
here ! " 

"It's  a  free  country,  isn't  it,  mis- 
ter?" said  an  indignant  citizen. 
"  How  cocky  them  cops  is  !  "  re- 
marked a  ragged  boy  of  ten.  Adrian, 
however,  shoved  back  against  those 
behind  him  in  compliance  with  the 
order,  and  looking  directly  into  the 
policeman's  eyes,  said  with  a  smile, 

"  Rather  tight  times,  Mr.  Officer  !  " 

"Hinh!"  grunted  the  man,  "easy 
enough  if  them  would  stay  to  hum 
that  ain't  wanted  here  !" 

"  But  I  have  a  message  to  Detective 
Olds,"  persisted  Adrian.  "He  rooms 
in  that  building,  you  know.  Have 
you  seen  him  ?  " 

The  truth  is,  that  in  spite  of  the 
reprobation  which  has  become  con- 
ventional against   certain   classes  of 


subordinates  —  such  as  police-officers, 
express-men,  hotel-clerks,  railroad- 
men,—  the  truth  is,  that  if  one  has  any 
real  business  with  one  of  them,  and 
states  it  promptly  and  civilly,  it  is 
very  uncommon  to  receive  any  other 
than  a  prompt  and  civil  answer. 
The  officer,  notwithstanding  his  rough 
manner,  and  although  all  the  time  he 
shoved  away  with  all  his  might  against 
Adrian  with  his  club,  became  atten- 
tive as  soon  as  he  saw  that  Adrian's 
errand  was  a  real  one,  and  replied, 
"  He  may  be  somewhere  about.  Bet- 
ter come  under  the  rope  and  speak 
to  Captain  Dorr.  I  can't  stir  from 
here,  you  see."  And  he  gave  a  kind 
of  jerk  with  his  head,  towards  a 
group  of  three  or  four  officers  and 
firemen  who  stood  within  the  cleared 
space,  at  the  Washington  Place  cor- 
ner of  the  sidewalk  before  the  build- 
ing. Adrian,  with  a  good  deal  of 
difficulty,  managed  to  stoop  so  as  to 
get  under  the  rope,  and  while  the 
officer  renewed  his  shouting  and  shov- 
ing, and  the  crowd  their  jeers  and 
remonstrances,  he  went  across  to  the 
sidewalk,  and  selecting  the  police  cap- 
tain by  the  gold  badge  on  his  breast, 
he  said, 

"  Captain,  I  have  a  pressing  mes- 
sage for  Detective  Olds.  Have  you 
seen  him?" 

"Just  sent  to  inquire  after  him," 
said  the  officer;  — 

"Don't  know  any  thing  about 
him,"  reported  a  patrolman,  coming 
up  at  this  instant;  "hain't  seen  him 
to-day." 

"That's  from  the  janitress,"  said 
Captain  Dorr. 

A  fireman  rushed  up :  "  One  of  the 
boys  says  a  man  went  up  by  the  side 
door  not  fifteen  minutes  ago,"  he  said, 
excitedly ;  but  the  room's  all  afire, 
and  there's  a  stream  agoin  into  it 
now  "  —  and  the  man  pointed  up  to 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


231 


the  fourth  floor,  the  highest  but  one, 
where  smoke  was  gushing  out  at  the 
windows  furthest  back,  next  the  St. 
Julien  House,  and  a  hoseman,  perched 
on  a  ladder,  was  sending  a  full  stream 
thrashing  and  spurting  to  and  fro  into 
the  inside  of  the  building. 

"  A  nan  !  "  said  the  captain  —  "I 
guess  if  it  was  that  big  porpus  he'd 
'a  known  it !  " 

—  Adrian  darted  across  the  sidewalk 
into  the  front  door  of  the  building, 
and  disappeared  up  the  stairs,  too 
quickly  for  interference.  The  police- 
men and  firemen  shouted  after  him, 
but  in  vain.  The  captain  swore  a 
deep  oath  at  him  for  a  fool,  and  the 
chief  engineer,  also  with  oaths,  or- 
dered a  fireman  to  follow  him  and 
bring  him  back. 

The  impulse  which  sent  the  young 
man  into  the  burning  house  was  not 
a  very  reasonable  one ;  it  was  too 
instantaneous,  too  purely  an  impulse, 
to  be  reasoned.  It  was,  indeed,  one 
of  those  efforts  which  one's  reason 
would  never  permit,  which  if  made  at 
all  are  made  precisely  as  unconscious 
impulses  —  which  if  they  succeed  are 
called  inspirations,  and  if  not,  are  at 
present  nameless  in  English.  Such 
inspirations  have  made  men  defy 
death  under  locomotive-wheels,  have 
made  women  spring  into  the  sea,  to 
try  to  save  the  life  of  an  infant. 
There  flashed  across  Adrian's  mind 
two  pictures  ;  the  sick  old  man  all 
alone,  calling  feebly  for  his  daughter 
—  the  delicate  and  spiritual  girl,  if 
possible  even  more  helplessly  beset, 
locked  in  the  noisome  cell  of  a  police 
station.  He  had  counted  on  the  de- 
tective to  put  an  end  to  both  these 
miseries  in  an  hour.  Without  him, 
how  iong  might  they  not  last,  how 
fatal  might  they  not  be  ?  He  did 
not  wait  to  enter  up  the  per  contra  — 
the   uncertainty  whether   anybody  at 


all  had  really  gone  in  at  the  side 
door,  the  moral  certainty  that  no 
clumsy  creature  like  Olds  would  try 
to  clamber  up  three  flights  of  stairs 
into  that  death-trap,  the  probabilities 
about  his  having  been  in  some  way 
caught  and  detained  in  his  room,  and 
perhaps  already  suffocated  there. 
Adrian  did  not  even  wait  to  consider 
that  his  own  remarkable  swiftness  and 
agile  strength  made  it  less  dangerous 
than  for  most  men  to  venture  into 
the  building.  He  thought  not  at 
all :  he  only  saw  the  sick  man  and 
the  young  girl,  and  with  the  athlete's 
habit  he  drew  in  one  full  inhalation, 
and  sprang  away. 

The  very  utmost  force  or  swiftness 
of  horse  or  man  can  only  be  exerted 
while  one  full  breath  is  held.  With 
this  one  breath,  Adrian  leaped  up  the 
stairs,  two  steps  at  a  time.  He  remem- 
bered well  enough  the  disposition  of 
the  interior  —  single  halls  one  above 
the  other  along  the  south  or  inner  side 
of  the  house,  with  rooms  at  each  end 
and  others  along  the  north  or  Wash- 
ington Place  side.  He  sprang  up 
two  flights  ;  ran  to  the  back  end  of 
the  hall,  turned  and  ascended  another 
flight,  and  was  on  the  floor  of  the 
room  he  sought.  The  fire,  which  had 
begun  in  the  fifth  or  uppermost  story, 
had  taken  entire  possession  of  that, 
and  was  working  through  the  floors 
downward.  Thick  hot  smoke  eddied 
and  rolled  along  the  hall ;  the  fire 
crackled  and  roared  through  all  the 
house  above  him,  and  the  streams 
from  the  engines  splashed  and 
whizzed  with  steady  energy  against 
wall  and  rafter,  ran  along  the  floor 
and  down  the  stairs.  Pausing  a 
moment  Adrian  stooped  close  to  the 
floor  for  two  or  three  breaths  of  com- 
paratively pure  air ;  then  sprang  to 
the  door  of  the  detective's  room,  which 
was  that  across  the  back  end  of  the 


232 


Scropt 


The  Lost  Library. 


building,  shouted  his  name,  and  with- 
out waiting  for  a  reply,  drove  in  the 
door  with  his  shoulder,  and  entered. 
The  savage  fury  of  the  interior  was 
indescribable.  It  was  filled  nearly 
down  to  the  floor  with  swirls  of  dense 
hot  smoke  that  scorched  Adrian's 
eyes  and  drove  them  tight  shut  in  an 
agony  of  smarting  pain,  and  was 
incapable  of  being  breathed  ;  already 
the  fire  was  snapping  and  crackling 
through  the  ceiling,  from  which  por- 
tions of  the  plaster  had  fallen ;  and 
through  the  breaches,  a  roaring  hell 
of  red  flames  could  be  seen  by  momen- 
tary flashes,  filling  the  space  above. 
And  two  white  strong  jets  of  water 
dashed  steadily  in  through  the  win- 
dows and  with  a  powerful  splashing 
strength  that  would  have  knocked  a 
man  down  like  an  axe,  flew  waveringly 
against  and  through  wall  or  ceil- 
ing. 

Stooping  close  to  the  floor,  so  as  to 
avoid  the  furious  stroke  of  the  water- 
spouts, Adrian  crawled  straight  to  the 
further  corner,  where  he  remembered 
that  there  was  a  bed,  and  unable  to 
open  his  eyes  in  the  acrid  burning 
smoke,  he  felt  upon  it  with  his  hands. 
There  was  something  —  it  seemed 
like  the  relics  of  a  wasted  man,  but 
all  wet  with   blood  —  unless   it  was 


with  the  pouring  torrents  of  water. 
"Whatever  it  was,  Adrian  dragged  it 
down  upon  the  floor,  and  with  a  des- 
perate effort  opened  his  stinging 
blinded  eyes  upon  it  for  an  instant. 
It  came  to  pieces  under  his  grasp. 
Something  like  a  head  there  was ; 
clothes ;  a  thin  unsubstantial  carica- 
ture of  humanity  in  them  ;  it  was  as 
if  he  was  mocked  by  a  goblin  like  the 
German  Nixy,  which  is  the  shell  of 
the  front  half  of  a  human  being,  but 
all  open  and  vacant  behind  ;  or  as  if 
he  were  surprised  by  some  new  fan- 
tastic form  of  dissolution.  He  recog- 
nized nevertheless,  or  thought  he  did, 
the  broad  oleaginous  features  of  Olds, 
as  to  his  inexpressible  horror  the 
dripping  soft  object  which  was  like 
the  ghost  of  a  head  came  apart  under 
his  hands,  from  the  rest  of  the  thing. 
It  was  impossible  to  endure  the 
situation  longer;  his  lungs  were 
bursting,  his  ej'esight  gone  ;  he  felt 
that  in  ten  seconds  more  he  would  be 
lost ;  and  turning,  he  pointed  as  well 
as  he  could  for  the  entrance,  stooped 
again,  and  went  crawling  as  fast  as 
he  could  over  the  hot  sloppy  floor. 
At  one  and  the  same  moment  his 
head  struck  hard  against  something 
solid,  and  as  he  fell,  he  fell  upon 
something  soft. 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


233 


SCROPE;   OR,  THE  LOST  LIBRARY. 


BY    FREDERIC    B.    PERKINS. 


PART    XIII. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

One  touch  showed  Adrian  that 
what  he  had  fallen  against  was  the 
wall,  and  that  what  he  had  fallen 
upon  was  a  human  being.  With  a 
final  effort  of  recollection  and  of 
strength,  he  made  out  that  he  had  in 
returning  across  the  room,  aimed  too 
far  to  the  left;  and  seizing  the  pros- 
trate person,  he  made  once  more  for 
the  door,  and  this  time  reached  it. 
Whether  he  could  have  got  down 
stairs  safely  by  himself  with  his  load 
is  'doubtful,  perfectly  blind  as  he  was 
for  the  time  being.  Somehow,  he 
struggled  onward ;  just  as  he  reached 
the  head  of  the  stairs  he  tripped 
in  a  ragged  piece  of  floor-cloth,  and 
pitched  forward.  Down  he  would 
have  plunged  upon  the  iron-plated 
steps  of  the  steep  stairway,  had  not 
a  strong  arm  caught  him.  It  was 
the  fireman  who  had  been  sent  up 
after  him,  and  who  had  been  search- 
ing in  some  of  the  other  rooms. 

"  Just  in  time,  young  feller  !  "  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Fireman ;  and  they 
made  the  best  of  their  way  to  the 
street,  holding  the  insensible  figure 
between  them,  Adrian  guiding  him- 
self by  the  movements  of  his  assist- 
ant. As  they  came  out  upon  the 
sidewalk,  defiled  and  disfigured  from 
head  to  foot  by  cinders,  smoke,  heat 
and  dirty  water,  a  monstrous  roaring 
Hooray !  went  up  from  the  crowd ; 
for  all  had  instantly  divined  that  the 
limp  and  helpless  figure  between  the 
two  men  was  that  of  one  saved  from 
the  fire.  "  Well  done  !  "  exclaimed 
Captain  Dorr,  as  he  relieved  Adrian 


from  his  share  of  the  burden,  and  set 
the  rescued  person  down  on  the  side- 
walk, leaning  against  a  post.  —  "  Who 
is  it  ?  "  continued  the  police  officer, 
as  he  examined  the  features  of  the 
insensible  individual  —  "  Jack  Bird, 
as  sure  as  I'm  alive  ! " 

"  The  police  reporter  ? "  asked 
Adrian  eagerly  —  he  could  not  keep 
his  eyes  open  long  enough  to  see  any 
thing. 

"  Yes,  —  Tom,"  continued  Captain 
Dorr  to  the  fireman,  "we  must  get 
him  to  the  hospital ;'  here's  a  bad  hole 
in  his  head." 

"  Take  me  too,  will  you,  Captain," 
said  Adrian,  "  I  believe  my  eyes  are 
burned  out  of  my  face ;  I  can't  see 
at  all :  I  can't  stand  it  much  longer." 

"  Come  on,  then,"  was  the  officer's 
answer;  "  we'll  go  round  to  the  sta- 
tion first."  A  little  escort  of  police- 
men Was  quickly  organized ;  one  led 
Adrian,  two  carried  Bird,  and  by 
way  of  Washington  Place,  they  were 
in  a  few  moments  at  the  station-house 
of  the  Eighth  Precinct,  in  Mercer  St., 
only  a  few  blocks  away.  Here  a 
physician  was  quickly  in  attendance, 
who  reported  after  a  brief  examina- 
tion that  Bird  appeared  to  have 
suffered  a  concussion  of  the  brain 
but  that  there  did  not  seem  to  be  any 
fracture  of  the  skull;  that  whichever 
was  the  case,  it  was  uncertain  when 
he  would  regain  his  senses  if  at  all ; 
and  that  he  should  as  soon  as  possible 
be  taken  to  a  hospital  where  he  could 
be  more  thoroughly  examined  and 
properly  treated.  As  for  Adrian,  the 
doctor   said    his    eyes   would   be   all 


234 


Scrope  ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


right  in  a  day  or  two ;  lie  might 
wash  them  in  warm  water  from  time 
to  time,  and  occasionally  use  the 
common  lotion  of  rose-water  and 
sugar-of-lead,  which  lotion  he  sent 
for  on  the  spot,  by  a  policeman. 
Meanwhile  a  hack  was  brought 
round,  and  the  luckless  reporter,  still 
senseless,  was  carried  away,  in  charge 
of  another  policeman  and  the  physi- 
cian. 

By  permission  of  the  police  ser- 
geant in  charge  of  the  station,  Adrian 
sat  quietly  in  a  corner,  for  a  while, 
cautiously  sopping  his  eyes  in  the  cool- 
ing rose-water,  thinking  over  the 
situation  of  affairs,  listening  to  the 
noises  of  the  street,  to  the  occasional 
items  of  police  business  that  came  in, 
and  to  the  rough  desultory  talk  of 
the  two  or  three  policemen  in  the 
room.  At  last,  as  the  darkness  began 
to  come  down,  he  found  himself  able 
to  see  a  little,  and  at  once  set  out  for 
Jefferson  Market.  Crossing  the 
Washington  Parade  Ground,  and 
following  Waverley  Place  out  to  the 
Sixth  Avenue,  he  reached  in  a  few 
minutes  this  important  centre  of 
municipal  interests  —  for  the  three- 
cornered  block  commonly  referred  to 
as  Jefferson  Market  includes,  besides 
divers  minor  portions,  not  only  a 
market,  but  an  engine-house,  a  fire- 
bell,  a  police  court-room  and  a  police- 
station,  with  their  respective  appen- 
dages all  complete.  Adrian  easily 
found  his  way  to  the  station,  and 
went  up  to  the  desk.  A  large  red- 
faced  and  red-haired  officer  was  upon 
the  throne  of  the  place,  behind  the 
desk,  and  upon  a  small  platform  run- 
ning across  the  head  of  the  room, 
which  platform  was  also  shut  off  by  a 
stout  wooden  rail. 

"  Captain  MacMurdo?"  said  Adrian. 

"  Gone  out,"  was  the  gruff  response. 

"  Can  I  apply  to  you  instead,  sir  ?  " 


"  Can  if  you  like." 

As  Adrian  was  taking  out  of  his 
pocket  a  few  papers  and  selecting 
Bird's  card  to  Mr.  Jenks,  Dr.  Veroil's 
letter  and  Mr.  Jenks's  own  note  to 
Bird,  by  way  of  credentials,  the  offi- 
cer —  he  was  a  lieutenant  —  ex- 
changed winks  and  grins  with  one 
or  two  of  his  companions  who  were 
lounging  hard  by. 

"  I  want  to  get  admission  to  the 
cells,"  said  Adrian  — 

"  Guess  you  can  run  your  face  for 
that,"  interrupted  the  lieutenant ;  and 
he  and  his  fellows  chorused  with  a 
big  Haw  !  haw  ! 

Adrian,  for  an  instant  furious,  was 
lucky  enough  to  bethink  himself,  as 
their  grinning  faces  centred  upon 
him,  that  his  features  and  his  costume 
might  really  justify  their  jeers  ;  and 
not  being  afflicted  with  vanity,  his 
wrath  became  amusement,  as  he  per- 
ceived why  they  had  been  so  ungra- 
cious, and  he  answered  in  a  jolly 
manner, 

"  Do  I  really  look  so  hard  ?  " 

Policemen  are  rough  fellows,  but 
they  are  very  often  good  fellows.  Adri- 
an's good  nature  and  good  manners 
set  them  right  in  an  instant. 

"  Hard  ?  "  said  the  lieutenant,  this 
time  amiably  enough,  —  "  hard  ain't 
no  name  for  it.  Any  man  on  the 
force  would  take  ye  in  on  sight." 

"  Well,  that's  just  what  I  want  this 
time,"  said  Adrian,  —  "  you  have  a 
person  —  alady  —  locked  up  here,  that 
I  want  to  see.  I  had  a  note  to  De- 
tective Olds,  but  I  found  his  place  all 
on  fire,  and  I  hardly  got  out  of  it 
alive  myself." 

"  Yes,"  assented  the  officer ; 
"they've  got  half  our  reserve  squad 
over  there  now."  Adrian  now  laid 
his  documents  before  the  lieutenant, 
who  examined  them  with  care,  and 
reflected  a  moment : 


Scrope  ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


235 


"  I  see  Mr.  Jenks  speaks  of  letting 
her  go,"  he  observed ;  "  'fraid  we 
shouldn't  be  justified  in  that  unless 
Olds  himself  should  say  so.  But  you 
can  see  her,  sir.  Bill,  show  the  gen- 
tleman in  to  number  eight." 

The  New  York  city  police-stations 
have,  —  or  should  have,  —  besides  the 
office  and  the  quarters  for  the  force,  two 
obligati  departments;  one  for  confin- 
ing persons  arrested,  and  one  for  tem- 
porarily sheltering  the  homeless.  The 
latter  is  a  bare  and  desolate  room, 
containing  a  stove  for  winter,  and 
some  strong  wooden  benches.  Com- 
fort is  diligently  and  successfully  es- 
chewed, for  it  would  speedily  attract 
a  mass  of  insufferable  patronage. 
The  prison  part  is  one  or  more  corri- 
dors with  stone  cells  at  the  side,  closed 
by  strong  doors.  The  patrolman  ad- 
dressed as  Bill,  upon  receiving  the 
order,  took  a  lantern  and  lit  the  wick 
of  its  dim  oil  lamp ;  then  turning  to 
Adrian  with  a  "  This  way,"  he  pre- 
ceded him  to  the  back  corner  of  the 
room,  at  the  right  hand  of  the  captain's 
desk  ;  opened  a  door,  and  led  the  way 
through  a  short  entry,  then  through 
another  door  down  five  or  six  stone 
steps  into  a  narrow  passage,  floored, 
sided  and  ceiled  with  stone.  Despite 
the  stove  at  the  far  end,  the  gaslight 
midway,  and  the  abundant  whitewash 
smeared  thickly  everywhere,  the  place 
was  damp,  cellar-like  and  horrible 
with  the  odor  or  flavor  that  always 
haunts  places  of  forcible  detention. 
It  might  almost  be  believed  that  souls 
rot  in  prison  as  well  as  bodies,  and 
infect  the  place. 

'■Number  eight,"  said  the  police- 
man, opening  the  door.  "You  can 
take  the  lantern."  Adrian  entered, 
holding  up  the  light  before  him  ;  the 
officer  went  away  ;  there  were  two  per- 
sons within,  both  women.  One  was 
Civille.  "  Oh,  Adrian  !  "  she  cried  out, 


as  she  sprang  up,  and  held  out  both 
hands.  As  she  did  so,  the  outer  door 
clashed  behind  the  retiring  policeman, 
and  a  sneering  drunken  female  voice 
from  the  next  cell  mimicked  Civille, 
calling  out  again,  "  Oh,  Adrian  !  " 
and  adding,  "  Dear  Adrian  has  come  ;" 
—  and  then  she  broke  out  with  the 
cracked  husky  tones  of  an  exhausted 
debauchee,  into  a  song  of  the  war  — 

"When  Johnny  comes  marching  home 
again,  hooray!  hooray!  " 

The  silence  which  Adrian  had  no- 
ticed on  entrance  was  indeed  only  the 
pause  of  the  inmates  of  the  place 
while  they  ascertained  what  was  the 
new  arrival ;  and  a  hoarse  and  hideous 
chorus  helped  the  drunken  woman 
through  her  stave. 

Adrian's  surprise  and  horror  were 
great  enough ;  but  Civille's  were 
greater;  even  insomuch  that  Adrian 
could  not  understand  for  a  moment 
the  look  of  intense  doubt  and  agony 
which  she  cast  at  himself,  nor  why 
she  covered  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
fell  back  on  the  narrow  bunk  where 
she  had  been  sitting  by  the  side  of 
her  companion.  But  he  remembered 
in  a  moment,  and  said,  with  a  tone 
of  resolute  cheerfulness,  which  he  as- 
sumed of  purpose  and  almost  with  a 
laugh,  as  he  remembered  the  police 
sergeant's  criticisms  upon  his  personal 
appearance : 

"Don't  be  frightened,  Civille,  —  I 
got  caught  over  on  Broadway  in  a 
room  full  of  smoke  and  water;  I'm 
only  dirty  and  scorched.  Your  father 
is  doing  nicely ;  we  shall  have  every 
thing  right  in  a  little  while ;  I've 
seen  the  people." 

He  was  quite  right,  as  he  was  quite 
natural,  in  never  even  thinking  that 
it  was  shame  that  made  Civille  hide 
her  face.  Modesty  belongs  to  such 
as  she ;  but  shame  never.     She  looked 


236 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


up  at  him  again,  with  inexpressible 
relief. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  thought," 
she  said.  "But  it's  such  a  horrible 
dream,  that  I  wasn't  quite  sure  but 
you  were  part  of  the  dream." 

"  I  see,"  said  Adrian  :  "  it's  as  the 
police  sergeant  said ;  he  said  any 
officer  would  take  me  up,  for  my 
looks." 

At  tbis  moment  the  singers  stopped. 
As  Adrian  was  about  to  speak  again, 
the  other  woman  held  up  a  warning 
hand,  and  said,  in  a  whisper, 

"  Hush  !  —  They  are  listening  to 
make  fun  again.  Sit  down  here,  Mr. 
Chester,  and  speak  low." 

"  It's  Mrs.  Barnes,  Adrian,"  whis- 
pered Civille,  in  explanation  ;  and  in- 
deed it  surprised  him  to  be  so  called 
by  name.  He  remembered  at  once 
the  fierce-looking  rather  handsome 
mulatto  woman  whose  baby  he  had 
found  Civille  holding  one  day,  —  the 
baby  that  had  been  expelled  from  The 
Shadowing  Wings,  in  consequence  of 
the  ethnological  Christianity  of  Mrs. 
Tar  box  Button. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Barnes  ? " 
said  Adrian,  politely,  and  adopting 
the  subdued  tone  of  the  company,  — 
regis  ad  exemplar,  —  "  and  how  is  the 
little  one  ?  " 

Very  well,  the  mother  said ;  and 
upon  further  inquiry  it  appeared  that 
by  good  fortune  the  child  was  safe 
with  a  neighbor  of  its  mother's  ;  and 
also  that  the  meeting  of  Civille  and 
Mrs.  Barnes  in  the  cell  was  merely  a 
coincidence  such  as  is  constantly  hap- 
pening in  real  life,  and  of  which  peo- 
ple so  often  say  "  Such  things  happen 
in  fact,  but  it  would  not  do  to  put 
them  in  a  story."  Mrs.  Barnes  had 
been  concerned  in  a  furious  drunken 
row,  and  was  in  consequence  locked 
up  to  answer. 

There  now  followed   a    brisk    ex- 


change of  questions  and  replies.  It 
appeared  that  Civille  had  been  arrest- 
ed a  few  minutes  after  leaving  the 
house  that  morning,  on  a  charge  of 
shoplifting  at  Jenks  &  Trainor's,  and 
had  been  hurried  off  to  the  police  sta- 
tion, without  being  allowed  to  go 
back  to  the  house  or  communicate 
with  her  friends.  The  officers  had 
however  explained  that  the  detective 
who  had  employed  them,  would  see 
her  in  a  very  little  while,  and  that 
every  facility  would  be  given  her  for 
consulting  with  whomsoever  she  might 
wish,  as  soon  as  she  should  be  once 
locked  up.  These  promises,  however, 
had  not  been  kept,  and  to  her  inqui- 
ries why,  the  officers  had  replied  that 
the  reason  was,  the  failure  of  the  de- 
tective, Olds,  to  appear  as  he  had 
promised.  She  had  written  to  Mr. 
Button  and  to  Dr.  Veroil,  not  daring 
to  send  direct  to  her  father:  but  until 
Adrian's  coming,  Civille  said,  she  felt 
sure  the  letters  could  not  have  been 
delivered. 

Nor  had  they  been,  Adrian  replied, 
at  least  his  visit  was  no  evidence  of 
it ;  and  in  turn  he  briefly  told  the 
history  of  his  day,  and  ended  by  ex- 
plaining that  he  should  now  return  at 
once  to  Dr.  Veroil  and  to  Mr.  Button, 
and  that  at  the  very  worst,  Civille 
should  be  released  in  the  morning. 
And,  he  said,  she  was  to  keep  up  her 
spirits. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  with  a  quiet  smile, 
"  it  was  pretty  disagreeable  at  first, 
and  I  have  been  worried  about  father. 
But  Mrs.  Barnes  and  I  have  been 
very  friendly  and  comfortable  togeth- 


er. 


haven't  we,  Mrs.  Barnes?" 


"  You're  jest  as  good  as  you  can  be, 
ma'am,"  said  the  mulatto  woman,  im- 
petuously ;  "if  everybody  was  like 
you  'twould  be  a  better  world  than 
'tis." 

"  Oh,"  said  Civille,  with  a  smile, 


Scr 


ope; 


The  Lost  Library. 


237 


"  there's  plenty  of  good  people. 
There's  my  cousin  Miss  Button,  who 
gave  you  this  nice  shawl,  and  you 
yourself,  w,ho  made  me  take  it  because 
I  was  cold." 

"  Gave  me  a  fiddlestick  !  "  exclaim- 
ed the  woman ;  "  she's  given  no  end 
»f  nice  things,  to  poor  folks  that  I 
know  and  their  children,  and  there 
don't  nobody  like  her.  But  them 
that  knows  you,  they'd  do  any  thing 
in  the  world  for  you,  Miss  Civille,  and 
that's  the  truth." 

"  Would  you,  Mrs.  Barnes  ?  —  will 
you  ?  "  said  Civille,  earnestly. 

The  woman's  countenance  fell.  "  I 
know  what  you  mean,"  she  said,  unea- 
sily —  "I  can't  make  myself  over 
again  ;  I  would  if  I  could.  I'll  go  up 
for  ten  days  sure  in  the  morning,  and 
then  I  shall  be  decent  for  six  weeks 
or  so,  and  then  I  shall  have  a  row 
again  of  some  kind,  I  spose.  It's  as 
if  I  had  fever'n  agur  regular  every 
few  weeks,  and  you  sh'd  ask  me  not 
to." 

"Well,"  said  Civille,  "will  you 
come  and  see  me  when  you  come 
back?  You  can  do  that  ?  —  And  be 
sure  and  bring  the  baby  !  " 

Mrs.  Barnes  promised.  "Perhaps 
we  can  contrive  up  something,  be- 
tween us,"  continued  Civille  with  a 
smile,  "we  two  prisoners  ought  to  be 
smart  enough.  They  say  they  are 
always  planning  something  together. 
I  sha'n't  be  sorry  I  was  put  here,  Mrs. 
Barnes,  if  it  turns  out  to  be  of  any 
use." 

Thtf  conversar.oi.  Mas  delightful  to 
Adrian.  His  own  nature  responded 
readily  and  earnestly  to  every  call  for 
help,  and  it  was  a  wonderful  pleasure 
to  see  the  earnest  kindness  of  Civille, 
whom  he  loved,  —  a  kindness  so  sym- 
pathetic with  his  own  instincts  ;  and  - 
there  was  repeated  in  him  as  he  lis- 
tened, that  vague  deep  strange  sweet 


feeling,    which,    he   had  experienced 
before  —  She  is  myself ! 

And  further,  he  received  another 
hardly  less  exquisite  pleasure  from 
what  the  Evidences-of-Christianity 
people  call  unconscious  coincidence. 
He  found  himself  reasoning  in  the 
midst  of  his  emotions,  that  it  was  an 
absolute  impossibility  to  imagine,  still 
more  to  believe,  that  there  could  be 
either  evil  or  delusion  in  a  soul  so 
very  sweet  and  kindly.  No  matter, 
he  continued  to  himself,  if  I  saw 
them  find  stolen  goods  on  her  person 
and  in  her  pockets,  —  I  should  know 
that  she  was  perfectly  ignorant  and 
innocent  of  their  being  there. 

And  still  again,  his  reason  repeat- 
ed its  conclusion,  but  from  a  totally 
different  beginning :  It  is  another 
impossibility  for  one  who  has  done 
wrong,  to  be  so  unconscious  of  the 
prison  and  of  the  danger!  She  is  the 
same  pure  and  lovely  and  serene  lady 
in  this  den  of  abominations,  as  in  her 
own  little  parlor  at  home.  Ah  !  the 
enthusiastic  young  man  thought,  she 
is  best  worth  loving  of  all,  even  if 
she  will  not  love  me  back  ! 

So,  when  half  an  hour  was  gone  and 
the  officer  returned,  all  that  could  be 
said  had  been  said,  and  Adrian,  con- 
scious that  he  was  to  go,  only  remem- 
bered at  the  very  last  moment  that 
he  was  leaving  the  lady  of  his  choice 
locked  up  in  a  petty  prison,  charged 
with  a  vulgar  little  crime,  amongst 
the  very  draff  of  the  worst  city  of  one 
half  the  earth.  And  yet,  to  his  own 
surprise,  he  even  felt  more  inclined 
to  smile  than  to  cry.  The  situation 
was  not  a  disgrace,  it  was  an  absurdity. 
With  good  courage,  which  he  had 
received  from  Civille  as  much  as  he 
had  given  it  to  her,  he  shook  hands 
with  Mrs.  Barnes,  kissed  his  cousin, 
promised  once  more  to  return  in  the 
morning,  and   departed.     As  he  fol- 


238 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


lowed  the  policeman  back  to  the  outer 
room,  he  recited  to  himself  with  that 
full  sense  of  meaning  which  fitting 
facts  inspire  into  a  quotation,  Love- 
lace's well  known  lines,  in  his  stanzas 
"  To  Althea : " 

Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 

Nor  iron  bars  a  cage  ; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 

That  for  an  hermitage. 
If  I  have  freedom  in  my  love, 

And  in  my  soul  am  free, 
Angels  alone,  that  soar  above, 

Enjoy  such  liberty. 

"  The  real  prison,  after  all,"  he 
said,  in  comment  on  the  plucky  cava- 
lier's graceful  rhyme,  "  is  in  the  pris- 
oner." 

"Dunno  'bout  that,"  observed  his 
guide,  for  Adrian  had  unconsciously 
spoken  aloud  — "  guess  ye  wa'n't 
never  sbet  up,  was  ye?" 

"No,"  said  Adrian  ;  "but  I'd  rather 
take  the  chance  of  breaking  jail  than 
the  chance  of  forgetting  if  I  had 
murdered  somebody." 

"Wal,  you're  right,"  said  the  po- 
liceman. Really  great  truths  about 
life  are  very  easy  to  understand. 
There  are  very  few  people  who  will 
deny  to  begin  with  that  there  is  a 
difference  between  right  and  wrong. 
Honest  Mr.  Policeman  was,  ethically, 
in  excellent  health. 

CHAPTEE  XXXIV. 
Adrian  at  once  arranged  with  the 
officer  in  charge  to  prevent  Civille's 
name  from  reaching  next  morning's 
newspapers.  This  he  did  by  quietly 
erasing  the  real  name  which  had  been 
entered  in  the  record  of  the  place, 
and  substituting  that  of  Betsy  Jones, 
obviously  quite  as  good  to  fill  records 
or  constitute  items,  and  which  saved 
the  disagreeable  fame  of  having  been 
arrested  and  imprisoned  on  a  charge 
of  theft,  a  fame  not  very  welcome, 
even  when  undeserved,  to  any  lady. 


Adrian  now  expressed  his  thanks 
to  the  officers,  and  added  a  confession 
that  he  had  not  expected  to  be  so 
obligingly  treated. 

"  Oh,  bless  your  soul,"  said  the 
lieutenant  with  a  grin,  "you're  a  gen- 
tleman. Its  folks  that  conies  in  to 
blaggard  us  that  we  jest  cut  up  to. 
Most  anybody's  glad  to  accommo- 
date, but  it  don't  stand  to  reason  that 
abuse  makes  a  feller  obligin.  You 
can't  ketch  flies  with  vinegar." 

"  That's  very  true,"  assented  Adri- 
an, who,  finding  so  much  favor  in  the 
eyes  of  the  officer,  went  on  to  ask  for 
suggestions  as  to  proceedings  next 
morning.  The  reply  was,  that  in 
order  to  set  the  lady  at  liberty,  he 
ought  to  bring  either  the  complainant, 
(viz.,  Olds,)  or  counsel  for  him,  in  order 
to  withdraw  the  complaint.  If  the 
detective  should  not  turn  up,  bail 
should  be  obtained.  Whoever  should 
come,  ought  to  be  on  hand  at  the 
opening  of  court  next  morning,  punc- 
tually at  seven  o'clock.  With  these 
instructions,  Adrian  took  his  leave. 

He  stopped  at  the  first  eating-house 
he  came  to,  took  a  draught  of  water, 
and  bought  a  couple  of  sandwiches ; 
for  he  had  actually  not  once  thought 
of  eating  or  drinking  all  the  day,  so 
intense  had  been  his  sense  of  the  ur- 
gency of  his  errands,  and  so  quickly 
had  they  followed  one  after  another. 
Then,  entering  a  hack  which  he  found 
on  Broadway,  he  gave  the  driver  Dr. 
Veroil's  address,  promised  half-a- 
doliar  extra  for  speed,  and  ate  his 
sandwiches  as  he  rode.  The  splendid 
vitalit}'  of  his  youth  quickly  regained 
from  the  meagre  refection  and  the 
rest,  —  if  the  jolting  of  a  hack  can  be 
called  rest,  —  of  his  ride,  the  strength 
and  activity  which  he  had  felt  him- 
self losing.  Not  that  twelve  hours 
is  so  long  a  time  to  go  without  food. 
It  is,  though,  for  one  thoroughly  used 


Scrope  ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


239 


to  the  ordinary  daily  three  good 
meals. 

Dr.  Veroil  was  out ;  an  unusual 
thing  at  this  hour  —  nearly  ten  o'clock. 
Adrian  decided,  late  as  it  was,  as  the 
circumstances  would  be  an  ample 
excuse,  to  see  Mr.  Button  and  get  a 
definite  answer  about  the  old  house, 
as  the  publisher  directed  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  then  to  come  back  to  the 
doctor's.  It  was  but  a  few  minutes' 
further  drive  to  Mr.  Button's.  Dis- 
missing his  driver,  Adrian  rang,  and 
was  admitted.  He  was  shown  into 
the  back  parlor,  where  to  his  surprise 
he  found  Dr.  Veroil,  agreeably  occu- 
pied in  partaking  of  cold  roast  lamb 
and  brown  stout.  The  physician 
welcomed  him  with  eager  interest, 
demanded  his  news,  and  at  the  same 
time  exhorted  him  to  partake  of  the 
viands.  Like  the  policeman  and  Ci- 
ville,  he  moreover  took  notice  of  the 
disorder  of  the  young  man's  costume 
and  the  somewhat  deteriorated  appear- 
ance of  his  visage. 

"You'll  understand  it  all  in  two 
minutes,  doctor,"  said  Adrian,  as  he 
addressed  himself  with  good  courage 
to  the  eatables.  His  sandwiches  had 
been  little  more  than  a  drop  in  the 
bucket.  He  began  with  the  main 
items,  as  one  puts  a  list  of  contents  at 
the  head  of  a  chapter : 

"  Civille  is  locked  up  at  the  Jeffer- 
son Market  station  on  a  charge  of 
shoplifting  at  Jenks  &  Trainor's,"  he 
said :  "  Bird  is  hurt  in  the  head 
and  is  at  the  New  York  Hos- 
pital ;  Olds,  —  I  think,  —  is  dead. 
I  want,  first  of  all,  bail  to  get 
Civille  out  at  seven  o'clock  to-mor- 
row morning  —  but  doctor,  Mr.  Van 
Braam  ?  "  — 

"  All  safe,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  for- 
tunately opium  does  not  injure  him  as 
it  does  some  people,  and  he  is  com- 
fortable for  the  present;  it  will  injure 


him  less  than  to  know  about  Civille, 
anyhow.     Well  ?  "  — 

So  Adrian  began  from  the  moment 
of  his  leaving  the  doctor  in  the  morn- 
ing and  gave  a  succinct  account  of  hi? 
whole  day,  and  ended  by  saying, 

"  I  went  straight  to  you,  Doctor,  to 
be  bail,  in  case  nothing  is  heard  of 
Olds ;  and  not  finding  you,  I  came 
here.  Angry  or  not  angry,  Mr.  But- 
ton would  hardly  refuse  to  bail  Civille 
out,  under  the  circumstances  ?  " 

"  I'll  do  it,"  said  the  doctor,  —  "  I'll 
do  it,  of  course,  with  as  much  pleasure 
as  such  a  service  admits.  As  for 
Button,"  he  continued,  with  sudden 
seriousness,  "  he  won't  bail  anybody 
out  at  present  —  never,  very  likely." 

"  What?"  exclaimed  Adrian,  great- 
ly startled  by  the  doctor's  manner,  — 
"  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I've  been  here  most  of  the  time 
since  noon.  —  He  had  a  stroke  of 
paralysis  this  morning  at  Jenks  & 
Trainor's  store  —  a  very  dangerous 
one." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Adrian,  "  it  must  have 
been  he  that  was  in  a  faint,  they  said 
it  was,  in  the  middle  of  a  crowd  of 
clerks  and  customers,  at  the  moment 
I  went  into  the  store.  I  never 
thought  of  that  —  how  could  I  ?  And 
Ann  came  out  at  the  very  moment 
when  I  was  going  in,  too,  — how  could 


she   not  h; 


She  looked  ex- 


actly as  usual  though.  She  could 
not  have  been  so  quiet  if  she  had 
known."  — 

"  How's  that  ?  "  said  the  doctor,  — 
"  Miss  Button  coming  out  of  the  store 
just  as  you  went  in,  and  the  faint, 
or  whatever  it  was,  going  on  at  the 
same  time  inside  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Whew  !  "  whistled  the  physician 
to  himself,  softly. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Adrian. 

"  Oh  —  only  —  the  fact  of  a  man's 


240 


Scropt 


The  Lost  Library. 


being  struck  down  in  that  way  with- 
in reach  of  his  own  daughter's  hand 

—  under  her   very  eyes,  apparently, 

—  and  her  knowing  nothing  of  it. 
Were  they  not  together?  If  they 
were,  how  was  it  possible  for  her  not 
to  know   it  ?  " 

Adrian  was  startled,  partly  by  this 
way  of  putting  the  case,  but  much 
more  by  the  increasing  seriousness  and 
even  gloom,  which  grew  upon  the  phy- 
sician's manner  with  every  word  he 
uttered. 

"  I  don't  think  they  went  together," 
Adrian  observed.  "  He  drove  straight 
up,  —  at  least  I  suppose  so,  —  from 
his  office.  Ann  often  goes  shopping 
in  the  mornings;  of  course  Jenks  & 
Trainor's  is  one  place  to  go  to ;  she 
used  to  take  Civille  with  her  — 
Civille's  taste  is  worth  using,  you 
know  —  By  George  !  "  exclaimed  the 
young  man,  stopping  short,  coloring 
high,  and  looking  straight  into  the 
doctor's  eyes. 

"  Hush  !"  said  Dr.  Veroil,  lifting  a 
warning  finger,  and  speaking  very 
low,  —  "  You've  thought  of  it,  I  see. 
But  not  a  word !  Even  you  and 
I  won't  say  it  to  each  other,  at 
present!  We'll  try  to  get  Civille 
out  all  safe  and  clear,  and  if  we 
can  do  that,  we'll  prevent  all  the 
further  scandal  we  can,  all  round. 
There's   sorrow  enough  in  the  world, 

—  there's  a  full  share  in  this  house. 
As  for  this  miserable  boy,  he'll  be 
dead  in  a  year  if  they  don't  lock  him 
up  in  some  inebriate  asylum.  And 
besides  this  matter  that  we  are  think- 
ing about,  here's  the  father.  —  Why, 
it's  the  annihilation  of  a  family  !  It's 
astonishing  how  the  strongest  men  go 
all  to  pieces  in  an  instant !  Their  fibre 
is  so  dense  that  they  seem  perfectly 
well  outside  until  they  are  all  mined 
away  within,  like  a  hardwood  tree; 
and    then    down  they   go,   with   one 


single  crash,  and  you  see  how  thin 
the  shell  of  life  was.  I've  been  ex- 
pecting something  like  this.  His  com- 
plaints about  the  back  of  his  head 
—  about  being  dizzy  —  that  means  a 
pretty  severe  drain  of  the  nervous  en- 
ergy, at  its  very  fountain.  What 
you  said  this  morning  about  his  feel- 
ing so  remarkably  well  startled  me 
at  the  moment  —  I  was  too  busy  to 
pay  much  attention  however  —  you 
know  it  is  often  the  case  that  for  a 
short  time  before  a  stroke  of  palsy  or 
apoplexy,  the  patient  feels  so  much 
brighter  and  stronger  than  usual, 
that  he  often  speaks  of  it  himself." 

"No,  I  did  not.  That  is  as  if  the 
disease  retired  to  put  one  off  his 
guard  and  so  be  sure  to  get  a  good 
hit  at  him." 

"  Somewhat  so." 

"Well,  doctor,  what  is  the  real 
state  of  Mr.  Button's  case  ?" 

"  Impossible  to  tell  definitely  at 
present.  Requires  some  days  to  take 
stock  of  such  attacks.  The  stroke 
was  a  very  severe  one,  for  a  hemi- 
plegia —  worst  I  ever  saw,  I  think  — 
right  side  completely  paralyzed,  and 
the  left  side  much  affected  sympathet- 
ically. He  has  rallied  somewhat ;  his 
life  is  probably  safe  for  the  immedi- 
ate present ;  they  are  almost  always 
very  irritable  after  such  attacks,  and 
he  is  extremely  so.  But  he  has  a 
tremendous  constitution,  and  a  tre- 
mendous will,  and  that  makes  a  vast 
difference.  He  don't  mean  to  die, 
this  bout,  —  I  can  see  that.  He  is 
excessively  anxious  to  do  something, 
I  can't  say  exactly  what,  and  he  can't 
speak  or  move  yet.  I've  told  him  to 
be  patient  until  to-morrow,  and  he  is 
trying  to  be ;  but  it's  a  strange  state  ! 
His  command  of  his  body  is  gone, 
and  he  has  no  feeling,  or  hardly  any, 
anywhere ;  and  yet  his  nerves  are 
thrilling  and   thrilling  like  telegraph 


Scrope  ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


241 


wires  in  the  wind,  and  I  suppose  he 
never  felt  so  perfectly  and  uncontrol- 
lably cross  in  his  life,  while  he  is 
utterly  without  power  of  expression 
or  motion." 

"  Well,"  said  Adrian,  "  if  it  rested 
with  me,  Mr.  Button  should  be  up 
again  quick  enough.  He's  rough, 
but  there's  much  to  admire  in  power 
like  his.  I  wish  I  could  cure  him  ! 
I  can't  ask  him  about  the  old  house, 
either  ;  he  was  to  let  me  know  about 
that  this  evening." 

"  House  ?     What's  that  ?  " 

Upon  Adrian's  explaining,  the 
doctor  promptly  promised  to  see  to 
that  matter  also,  by  deputing  his 
man,  a  trusty  and  efficient  person,  to 
go  over  and  negotiate  a  further  delay 
in  the  work  of  destruction. 

"  You're  very  good,  doctor,"  said 
Adrian,  "  to  take  all  this  trouble." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  the  physician, 
rather  shortly  ;  "  you'd  do  as  much  for 
me  ;  so  would  Civille  ;  and  if  I  don't 
see  her  through  this  pinch,  who  will  ? 
But,  young  man,  you  may  be  looking 
out,  if  you  choose,  for  somebody  to 
take  charge  of  her  in  future.  I  can't 
have  everybody  on  my  hands." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  doctor  ?  " 
said  Adrian,  blushing  —  "  She's  my 
cousin  and  I  like  her." 

"  Situation  vacant  for  a  young  man, 
that's  all,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a 
very  intelligent  look.  "  Apply  at 
once." 

"  Well,  doctor,"  rejoined  Adrian, 
*'  if  you  meet  the  employer,  have  the 
goodness  to  put  in  a  word  for  me,  and 
perhaps  I'll  apply." 

"  Very  good.  Now  go  off  and  go 
to  bed  ;  you've  done  a  very  fair  day's 
work,  and  we  must  be  on  hand  bright 
and  early  to-morrow  morning.  I  must 
stay  here  a  while  longer.  Stop  for 
me  and  we'll  go  to  the  police  court 
together." 


The  two  men  parted,  with  a  hearty 
hand-shake,  and  good  wishes,  for  they 
suited  each  other  well. 

CHAPTER    XXXV. 

The  usual  morning  jail-delivery  of 
a  New  York  police  court  is  a  humili- 
ating spectacle ;  one  cannot  feel  very 
proud  of  belonging  to  a  race  off 
which  is  incessantly  rising  so  very 
foul  a  scum.  Adrian  and  Dr.  Veroil, 
for  fear  of  accidents,  were  punctu- 
ally present  at  the  Jefferson  Market 
court-room  when  its  doors  were 
thrown  open  at  seven  o'clock  next 
morning.  Although  his  honor  the 
judge  did  not  appear  for  more 
than  an  hour,  it  would  have  been 
perfectly  unsafe  for  them  to  do  other- 
wise. The  judge  does  not  usually 
appear  at  one  of  these  courts  until 
nearly  nine  o'clock,  sometimes  still 
later  ;  but  in  cases  where  influence  is 
used,  it  might  easily  happen  that  one 
party  in  interest,  coming  to  court  at  a 
usual  hour,  should  find  that  the  hon- 
orable court  had  been  hurried  by 
somebody  ;  and  that  court  had  been 
opened  promptly  at  seven  a.m.,  the 
evil  human  harvest  of  the  night 
swiftly  marshalled  before  the  bar,  and 
the  particular  object  of  solicitude  has- 
tened off  to  prison  before  the  intended 
help  could  be  given,  or  hastened  off 
to  liberty  before  proof  could  be  made 
of  crime  to  be  punished. 

So  the  doctor  and  Adrian  had  a 
good  long  hour  and  a  quarter  to  wait, 
and  they  occupied  the  beginning  of 
it  by  a  careful  and  conscientious 
scrutiny  of  the  morning  papers. 

"  Hallo  !  here  we  are  ! "  said 
Adrian  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of 
their  reading ;  and  he  added,  as  his 
companion  looked  up,  the  words  of 
the  caption  of  a  local  item  : 

"  Dangerous  Fire  !    New  York 


242 


Scrope 


The  Lost  Library. 


Hotel  jn  Peril  !  Awful  Death 
op  a  well-known  detective  ! 
Strange  Phenomenon  connected 
with  the  Remains  ! " 

The  report,  which  was  written 
in  that  vociferous  and  perturbed 
dialect  which  may  be  called  news- 
paper English,  or  perhaps,  to  use  a 
diabolic  adjective,  —  a.  very  Caliban 
of  an  adjective,  —  of  its  own  spawn- 
ing to  describe  it,  Reportorial 
English,  —  went  on  to  give  an  account 
of  the  fire,  which  it  called  "  the  de- 
vouring element ; "  of  the  efforts, 
which  it  called  "  the  heroic,  devoted 
and  self-sacrificing  struggles  "  of  the 
firemen,  and  so  on,  —  all  which  is  nat- 
ural enough  for  people  whose  work 
is  often  paid  for  by  the  yard  instead 
of  the  merit.  Filtered,  this  turbid 
mess  afforded  the  statement  that  the 
building  which  had  been  burnt  had 
been  burnt,  which  was  true  ;  that  the 
New  York  Hotel  had  been  in  great 
danger,  which  was  false ;  that  the 
fire  had  been  subdued,  which  was 
true  again ;  that  a  man  had  been 
rescued  from  the  building,  which  was 
true  ;  and  lastly,  that  the  well-known 
detective  Mr.  Amos  Olds,  had  been 
burned  alive  in  his  rooms  there, 
nothing  being  left  of  him  except  a 
very  small  shrivelled  heap  of  animal 
matter  partly  transformed  into  a  sub- 
stance resembling  gutta-percha,  and 
which  had  been  found  among  the 
half-consumed  debris  of  the  room, 
after  the  fire  had  been  stayed  at  that 
very  place.  All  this  last,  Adrian 
read  for  what  it  might  fetch ;  he 
could  not  know  whether  it  was  true 
or  false,  however  vivid  was  his  recol- 
lection of  the  horror  he  had  felt  at 
handling  the  ghastly  relics  on  the 
bed.  And  there  was  a  short  para- 
graph about  the  professional  abilities 
of  the  deceased,  his  remarkable  per- 
sonal appearance,  and  his    eccentric 


fancy  of  being  seen  abroad  only  in 
the  evening. 

In  another  local  item  the  name  of 
Betsy  Jones,  charged  with  shoplift- 
ing, duly  appeared,  in  sufficiently 
bad  company.  On  these  and  divers 
other  topics  suggested  by  the  "  mighty 
engine,"  the  two  men  talked;  and 
they  succeeded  in  passing  away  the 
time  without  much  difficulty  until  a 
small  bustle  near  a  door  at  one  end 
of  that  side  of  the  room  on  which 
the  judge's  desk  was  railed  off,  gave 
token  that  the  great  man  would 
shortly  issue  forth  with  his  ermine 
on.  On  the  appearance  of  this  phe- 
nomenon, Dr.  Veroil  and  Adrian, 
who  had  been  sitting  on  one  of  the 
front  benches  of  those  that  filled  the 
main  body  of  the  room,  arose,  and 
stepped  up  to  the  persons  at  the  side- 
door.  The  doctor,  sending  in  a  card, 
requested  a  moment's  interview  with 
the  judge,  for  self  and  companion. 
This  was  granted,  and  they  were  ad- 
mitted to  the  judge's  private  room,  a 
rather  bare  little  den,  with  a  stove,  a 
table,  a  few  chairs,  a  book-case,  and 
a  worn  and  dirty  red  ingrain  carpet. 
The  dignitary  was'  talking  with  a 
police  captain,  and  meanwhile  brush- 
ing up  forward  past  his  ears  two  locks 
of  hair,  one  each  side  of  his  shiny 
bald  head.  He  was  a  rather  angry 
looking  man,  trig  of  costume,  erect 
of  carriage,  alert  and  quick  of  move- 
ment, so  that  he  made  Adrian  think 
of  a  boxing-master.  He  had  an  in- 
telligent face,  whose  decided  forms 
were  enhanced  by  a  thin  high  nose, 
heavy  mustache,  and  heavy  black 
eyebrows,  whose  level  line  strongly 
accented  his  keen  dark  eyes. 

"Wish  to  see  me,  Doctor?"  he 
asked  at  once,  quickly  but  politely. 
"  How  can  I  serve  you,  sir  ?  " 

Dr.  Veroil  briefly  explained  that 
one  Betsy  Jones,  held  for  shoplifting, 


Scropc;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


243 


was  known  to  him  as  a  perfectly  re- 
spectable young  lady,  arrested  under 
a  complete  misunderstanding ;  that 
he  wanted  his  honor  to  permit  her 
not  to  be  arraigned,  but  to  be  pri- 
vately examined,  and  dismissed  on  bail, 
which  he,  Doctor  Veroil,  would  give 
or  secure  to  any  required  amount ;  he 
added  that  Olds,  the  complainant  in 
the  case,  was  stated  to  be  dead,  and 
he  laid  before  the  judge  the  papers 
which  Adrian  had  shown  to  the  po- 
lice lieutenant  the  evening  before. 

"  Olds  dead  !  "  exclaimed  his  honor, 
— "  oh,  well,  this  memorandum  of 
Bird's  and  Mr.  Jenks'  note  will  do 
well  enough,  I  guess :  where's  Bird 
himself?     Can't  he  come  into  court  ?" 

"  No ;  he  would  have  been  dead 
too,"  said  Veroil,  "  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  my  young  friend  here  ;  as  it  is  he 
is  hurt,  and  is  in  the  hospital." 

"Ah,"  said  his  honor,  looking  at 
Adrian:  "you're  the  man  that  got 
him  out,  are  you  ?  Good  thing  to  do. 
Dorr  told  MacMurdo  here  about  it 
this  morning.  Well,  I  think,  doctor, 
we  can  arrange  it  for  you.  Will  you 
take  seats  here,  gentlemen,  until  I  am 
through  with  these  poor  creatures,  or 
will  you  have  a  look  at  the  operations 
of  the  machine?  " 

They  preferred  the  latter,  and  re- 
sumed their  seats  before  the  bar. 
The  judge  took  his  seat,  the  clerk  of 
the  court  established  himself  at  a 
lower  desk  at  one  side  of  him,  court 
was  duly  opened,  and  Captain  Mac- 
Murdo, after  receiving  the  judge's 
directions  about  Betsy  Jones  in  No. 
8,  left  the  court  by  another  door,  with 
three  or  four  officers.  In  about  five 
minutes  they  returned,  marshalling 
the  contents  of  the  cells  of  the  sta- 
tion house,  a  frowsy  and  horrible 
crew ;  an  officer  at  their  head  opened 
the  gate  of  a  stout  square  pen  at  the 
side  of  the   room,   and  the  prisoners 


huddled  into  it,  seating  themselves  in 
a  promiscuous  crowd  upon  the  bench- 
es inside.  One  of  the  policemen  now 
took  charge  of  the  gate  of  this  pen  ; 
and  as  one  name  after  another  was 
called,  he  or  she  was  let  out  by 
the  gatekeeper,  the  officer  who  had 
made  the  arrest  led  the  prisoner  by 
the  arm  up  opposite  the  judge ;  a  few 
questions  were  asked,  the  officer  made 
a  statement,  the  judge  said  a  few 
words,  the  clerk  made  an  entry  in  his 
book,  the  case  was  judged,  and  the 
prisoner  was  led  off.  Adrian  studied 
intently,  meanwhile,  the  herd  of  ob- 
jects in  the  pen.  He  had  never  be- 
fore examined  such  a  sight.  There 
were  some  twenty-five  or  thirty  of 
them  ;  not  far  from  an  average  day's 
arrests  in  one  city  police-court  juris- 
diction. There  were  some  old  men, 
some  old  women  ;  a  number  of  street- 
walkers ;  some  "  drunks  and  disor- 
derlies" and  some  "  assaults."  Adri- 
an, studying  the  group  —  he  was  near 
enough  to  see  the  details  of  faces 
and  clothes,  —  was  struck,  first  by 
the  general  lowness  of  the  heads, 
shallowness  and  scantiness  of  the 
foreheads,  roundness  and  fulness  of 
the  back  heads,  and  the  high  cheek- 
bones. Then  he  saw  the  sensual  and 
sullen  expression  of  the  mouths,  and 
the  less  frequent,  but  still  too  fre- 
quent scowl  of  eyebrow  and  furtive- 
ness  of  glance.  Only  one  or  two  of 
the  whole  had  good  heads,  and  these 
had  either  silly  faces  or  angry  if  not 
malignant  ones.  All  these  evil  favors 
were  greatly  enhanced  by  the  toilets 
of  the  company,  which  were  in  such 
a  state  as  if  they  had  all  been  furi- 
ously shaken  up  in  a  bag  along  with 
a  cartload  of  mud.  Torn  and  dirty 
garments,  daubed  sometimes  with  the 
thick  whitewash  of  the  cells,  gaudy 
finery  all  soiled  and  broken,  smashed 
hats,    bare   heads  with  indescribably 


244 


Scrope  ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


tormented  hair,  dirty  faces,  red  eyes, 
with  a  few  black  ones,  and  bloody 
noses,  dry  and  cracked  lips,  a  general 
condition  of  sleeplessness,  haggard- 
ness,  and  abject  noisome  musty  mis- 
ery, made  out  the  picture.  Almost 
all  the  voices  were  either  husky  or 
rasping  and  coarse.  One  or  two,  ap- 
parently decent  persons  overtaken  for 
once  by  liquor,  were  overwhelmed 
with  pitiable  shame ;  but  most  of 
them  were  either  obsequious  to  servili- 
ty, brazen  and  impudent,  or  sullen  and 
obstinate.  In  the  judge,  Adrian  no- 
ticed a  swift  and  business-like  effi- 
ciency which  he  admired,  and  he  was 
especially  surprised  at  the  accurate 
promptitude  with  which  from  his  per- 
sonal recollections  he  detected  the 
attempts  of  several  culprits  to  impose 
upon  him  a  false  name  or  to  lie  about 
their  criminal  antecedents. 

"  What's  your  name  ?  "  said  he  to 
one  of  these  quirkish  evaders,  after 
the  officer  had  made  his  charge. 

"  Mary  Orton."  Adrian  thought 
he  recognized  the  voice  that  had 
jeered  him  last  night  from  the  next 
cell. 

"Ever  here  before?" 

"  No,  your  honor." 

"  "What's  your  business  ?  " 

"  Sewing-girl." 

"Mr.  Clerk,  enter  her  name  Sabina 
Allen;  been  sentenced  already  three 
times  by  me.  Business,  landlady  of 
a  panel-house.  Thirty  days  —  ten  of 
them  for  lying.  Next  time  tell  the 
truth,  Sabina." 

"  Yes,  your  honor,"  said  the  woman 
with  a  courtesy  and  a  grin,  as  the 
officer  carried  her  off. 

Mrs.  Barnes,  the  best  looking  of 
the  whole  collection,  was  also  .perhaps 
the  most  dangerous  looking,  to  one 
who  could  read  faces.  As  she  came 
forward  to  the  bar  walking  with 
natural    grace,  but  with    a   stubborn 


lowering  look  upon  her  rather  hand- 
some features,  she  espied  Adrian  and 
the  doctor.  She  gave  a  start,  and 
flushed  deeply.  The  officer  who  was 
leading  her  looked  round  with  sur- 
prise. When  placed  before  the  judge, 
she  compressed  her  lips,  and  would 
not  answer  a  question  nor  say  a  word. 

«  Very  hard  case,"  said  the  officer. 

"  I'm  afraid  so,"  said  his  honor. 

Adrian,  without  exactly  meaning 
to,  arose  and  stepped  up  before  Mrs. 
Barnes,  to  the  judge's  desk. 

"  May  I  say  a  word  to  your  honor 
about  this  case?"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  There  were  tears  in  his  eyes, 
and  the  judge,  looking  at  him  with 
some  surprise,  said,  Yes,  certainly. 

Adrian  simply  said  that  the  woman 
had  a  young  child,  of  which  she  was 
very  fond ;  that  she  was  known  to 
the  young  lady  mentioned  before  the 
opening  of  court  and  was  to  some 
extent  under  her  influence ;  that  she 
had  by  accident  been  locked  up  in 
the  same  cell  with  her;  that  to  his 
knowledge  the  young  lady  was  en- 
gaged about  some  charities  connected 
with  Dr.  Toomston's  church,  and  was 
desirous  of  trying  to  reform  Mrs. 
Barnes;  that  he  thought  he  could 
promise  that  she  would  try  to  keep 
out  of  difficulty  herself;  and  that  he 
wished  respectfully  to  suggest  to  the 
court  whether  under  the  circumstances 
judgment  might  be  suspended  ? 

The  judge  nodded  assent ;  Adrian 
returned  to  his  seat ; 

"  The  gentleman  has  spoken  for 
you,  Mrs.  Barnes,"  said  the  judge, 
seriously,  but  not  unkindly ;  "  he 
promises  for  you  that  if  I  suspend 
judgment  you  will  do  your  best  not 
to  come  here  again  ;  and  the  lady  you 
have  been  with  will  try  to  help  you. 
Will  you  try  to  keep  straight  ?  " 

Not  a  word.  After  a  pause,  the 
judge  added, 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


245 


"It  would  be  the  best  thing  you 
could  do.  You  may  not  care  what 
happens  to  yourself;  but  what  right 
have  you  to  ruin  your  baby's  chance 
of  doing  well  ?  " 

With  a  shiver,  the  poor  woman,  in 
a  smothered  voice,  said, 

"  I'll  try,"  and  turning  to  Adrian 
she  nodded  to  him,  the  tears  running 
down  her  face ;  and  the  officer  led  her 
sobbing  away. 

"That's  right,  Adrian,"  whispered 
Veroil ;  "  she  may  not  stick  to  it  — 
those  impulsive  fiery  subjects  don't 
often  — but  she'll  try  hard  this  time." 

It  took  not  very  long  to  clear  the 
docket,  and  when  this  was  done,  the 
judge,  beckoning  to  Veroil  and 
Adrian,  went  into  his  private  room 
again,  and  sent  for  Civille,  who  was 
brought  in  by  a  side  door.  She 
looked  pale,  fatigued,  worn ;  but  as 
she  entered,  the  judge,  after  one  keen 
glance,  arose  and  bowed,  as  a  gentle- 
man bows  to  a  lady.  She  bowed  in 
return,  and  smiled  brightly  to  Adrian 
and  the  doctor,  with  both  of  whom 
she  shook  hands. 

"  Please  to  be  seated,  Miss  "  — 

"Miss  Van  Braam,"  said  the  doc- 
tor; "this  is  Judge  Flynn,  Civille, 
who  is  kind  enough  to  see  us  here 
instead  of  in  court." 

Civille  expressed  her  thanks,  and 
took  the  chair  which  was  offered  her. 
The  judge  now  asked  her  a  few  ques- 
tions, and  then  put  a  few  to -the  offi- 
cer who  had  arrested  her.  The 
answers  were  only  as  Adrian  already 
knew. 

"I  think  there  need  be  no  hesita- 
tion," said  his  honor.  "  I  will  accept 
your  bail,  Doctor,  for  Miss  Van 
Braam's  appearance  before  me  when 
required ;  but  I  apprehend  it  will 
be  a  matter  of  form  merely.  I 
think  we  shall  hear  no  more  of  this 
charge." 


The  proper  papers  were  made  out 
and  signed,  and  the  judge,  with  con- 
siderable grace,  expressed  his  regrets 
for  the  annoyance  that  Civille  had 
undergone,  and  his  happiness  at  hav- 
ing been  able  to  prevent  further  in- 
convenience, as  well  as  to  promote 
her  views  about  "her  friend  Mrs. 
Barnes,"  as  he  said  with  a  smile. 
Civille  looked  puzzled,  but  on  Adrian's 
explaining,  she  thanked  the  judge 
with  so  much  enthusiasm  that  he 
laughed. 

"You  don't  seem  to  care  so  much 
about  your  own  case,  as  about  hers," 
he  said. 

"  Poor  thing  !  "  said  Civille,  in  her 
solemn  introverted  way  — "  poor 
thing!  she  needs  care  a  great  deal 
more  than  I  do.  The  prison  don't 
hurt  me,  —  it  will  destroy  her.  We 
must  try  to  take  care  of  her." 

The  kind  hearted  judge  —  for  he 
was  kind  hearted  and  considerate  in 
spite  of  his  angry  black  eyebrows, 
and  did  as  much  good,  or  rather  as 
little  harm,  as  he  could,  in  his  official 
position,  —  now  took  his  leave  of 
them  and  went  back  to  his  court- 
room. In  a  few  moments  Civille  and 
her  escort  were  whirling  rapidly 
homeward  in  Veroil's  coupe,  which 
was  made  to  hold  three  inside  pas- 
sengers on  this  occasion  by  main 
strength  and  some  management. 

"  Dr.  Johnson  said,"  observed 
Adrian,  when  they  were  well  wedged 
in,  "  that  a  ship  was  simply  a  jail, 
with  a  chance  of  drowning.  A  coupe 
is  simply  a  police-station  cell,  with  a 
chance  of  upsetting." 

"  Less  the  whitewash  and  the 
smell  and  plus  freedom  and  motion 
and  sunshine,  you  grumbling  fellow," 
said  the  doctor. 

"  How  is  father?  "  said  Civille. 

"  Nicely,"  said  the  doctor,  (who 
hadn't  seen  him  since  the  day  before) 


246 


Scro-pe ;    or,  The  Lost  Library. 


—  "  nicely.  —  He  don't  know  you've 
had  any  trouble,  and  you  are  not  to 
tell  him  at  present.  I  gave  him  a 
light  dose  of  opium  last  night  to 
quiet  him,  and  left  orders  with  Katy 
to  say  this  morning  in  case  of  in- 
quiry that  you  had  just  gone  out  and 
would  he  hack  in  a  little  while." 

And  so  they  were.  They  found 
Mr.  Vin  Braarn  awake,  though  a  lit- 
tle dreamy,  and  the  situation  was 
easily  re-established.  When  the  doc- 
tor had  examined  his  patient  and  re- 
ceived Katy's  report,  lie  insisted  on 
some  breakfast  for  himself  and  Adrian, 
on  the  wonderful  pretence  that  bail 
were  always  treated  by  their  princi- 
pals. While  they  were  eating  and 
talking  over  their  affairs,  two  letters 
were  brought  in,  both  for  Adrian,  and 
both  from  Hartford.  He  opened  and 
read  them,  and  looked  grave,  for  a 
moment;  and  then  with  a  quiet 
smile  he  said  to  Civille, 

"  We  are  all  to  be  turned  out  of 
house  and  home  at  once,  it  seems  — 
let's  all  be  unhappy  together,  will 
you?  They  have  finally  made  an 
ordinance  to  cut  their  new  street 
through  the  old  house,  my  aunt  says. 
And  here's  my  friend  Stone  who  com- 
plains and  informs,  as  the  lawyers 
say,  that  my  resignation  of  my  as- 
sistant librarianship  is  accepted." 

"  Resignation  ! "  exclaimed  Civille, 
making  great  eyes,  "  what  made  you 
resign  ?  " 

"  Wouldn't  have  let  me  come  any 
other  way,  Civille ;  at  any  rate 
they  would  have  dismissed  me  if 
I  had,  and  I  preferred  to  dismiss 
them." 

"  Perfectly  right,"  remarked  the 
doctor. 

"  Well,"  said  Civille,  looking  in 
her  unconscious  way  right  into 
Adrian's  eyes  —  in  fact  right  into  his 
heart,  and  thinking  aloud  rather  than 


talking,  —  "  it's  right,  —  I  would 
have  done  so  for  him." 

"  That  would  be  an  immense  com- 
pliment," said  Adrian  to  the  doctor, 
"  only  that  she  would  do  it  for  you 
either,  or  for  anybody.  —  But  I  must 
remember  to  go  and  see  Purvis  to-day 
—  he  spoke  about  some  business ; 
who  knows  but  he  has  a  large  salary 
waiting  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  must  go  and  see  Mr.  Button," 
remarked  the  doctor,  —  "  and  you 
may  come  too,  if  you  wish,  Adrian  ; 
if  he  can  see  you  this  morning  we'll 
arrange  about  the  house." 

"  Very  good  —  but  I  must  go 
down  to  the  New  York  Hospital  first 
and  see  if  poor  Bird  is  alive  or  dead." 

Katy,  who  was  passing  behind 
Adrian  at  the  moment,  in  some  ser- 
vice of  dish  or  pitcher,  stopped  short. 
"  Is  he  hurt  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  in  an 
excited  way.  They  all  looked  at  her 
in  astonishment. 

"  Let  me  go  and  see  him!"  said 
Katy.     "  I  must  be  with  him  !  " 

"  I  dare  say  he  may  be  better  this 
morning"  said  Adrian,  kindly,  in 
spite  of  his  surprise  ;  "  you  shall  go 
down  with  me  if  you  like." 

"  Wait  a  moment,  please,"  said 
Katy,  eagerly—  "I'll  get  my  hat." 
And  she  darted  out  of  the  room. 

"  She's  talking  English  !  "  said  the 
doctor.  "  She's  no  Irish  girl !  Some 
deviltry  !  " 

It  was  true,  and  Civille  and  the 
doctor  lodked  puzzled  enough.  »  Adri- 
an remembered  his  having  seen  her 
and  Bird  in  communication  on  the 
night  of  the  party  at  Mr.  Button's, 
and  also  her  insolent  speech  to  Ci- 
ville at  the  door  of  the  supper-room, 
and  a  theory  popped  into  his  mind. 
"I  guess  "  he  said,  "I  can  "  — 

In  darted  Katy  again,  like  a  small 
whirlwind,  with  her  hat  on,  a  pair  of 
thread  gloves  on  her  hands. 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


247 


"  You've  no  shawl,"  said  Civille. 

"  No  matter,"  said  the  girl,  "  I 
couldn't  find  it ;  I  couldn't  wait." 

"  Here,"  said  Civille,  "take  this  ;  " 
and  she  gave  her  Mrs.  Barnes'  shawl, 
which  lay  on  the  sofa.  "  Bring  it 
back,  please  ;  it  isn't  mine." 

"  I'll  go  right  down,  doctor,"  said 
Adrian,  "  and  I'll  come  back  to  your 
office  and  report  progress  ;  and  if  you 


are    not    there    I'll    try     Mr.    But- 
ton's." 

"Do  so,"  said  Veroil ;  "and  if 
Bird  needs  me  I'll  go  down  right 
after  dinner."  And  leaving  Civille 
to  take  care  of  her  father,  the  party 
broke  up,  Adrian  taking  a  note  from 
Dr.  Veroil  to  the  house  surgeon  at 
the  hospital,  by  way  of  introduc- 
tion. 


PART   XIV. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


The  New  York  Hospital  is  now  so 
called  because  it  is  not  in  New  York 
City.  It  is  hardly  connected  with  the 
accidents  and  miseries  which  it  was 
meant  to  help.  That  help  is  nomi- 
nally given  by  means  of  a  few  beds 
put  up  in  an  old  building  in  one  cor- 
ner of  the  City  Hall  Park.  When 
Adrian  however  went  thither  to  see 
Mr.  Bird,  the  tall  roomy  gray  stone 
buildings  of  the  old  Hospital  were  still 
standing  in  the  middle  of  their  quiet 
square,  and  the  two  high  iron  fences, 
one  at  the  street,  usually  ornamented 
with  a  beggar  or  two,  a  seller  of  bal- 
lads, or  a  peanut  stand,  and  an  inner 
one,  garnished  with  the  porter's  lodge, 
between  the  outer  and  inner  court- 
yards, still  protected  the  institution 
from  the  intrusions  of  mere  curiosity 
or  idleness.  But  the  estate  thus  de- 
voted to  the  uses  of  the  sick  poor  was 
too  valuable.  There  is  not  humanity 
enougli  in  an  American  city  to  devote 
property  when  it  hecomes  very  valua- 
ble indeed,  to  God,  kindness  or  beau- 
ty. The  church  is  made  into  a 
liveiy-stable.  The  hospital  square  is 
covered  with  stores.  Even  in  the 
comparatively  Christian  city  of  Bos- 
ton, the  advanced  skirmishers  of  the 
money   Huns   have   cut  off  the   out- 


posts of  the  ancient  Common,  and 
over  the  corpses  of  half  a  dozen  cen- 
tennial elms,  the  victorious  and  guz- 
zling aldermen  and  their  allies  the 
real  estate  speculators  are  planning 
the  campaign  which  shall  cover  the 
whole  of  the  Common  with  stores. 
The  fate  of  the  Central  Park  in  New 
York  is  only  a  question  of  time.  It 
will  be  cut  up  and  sold  for  building 
lots  whenever  the  land  becomes  so 
valuable  for  business  purposes  that 
the  New  Yorker  cannot  bear  it  any 
longer. 

Adrian  and  his  companion  were 
admitted  without  difficulty,  and  were 
shown  into  the  convalescent  ward, 
where  to  the  great  relief  of  both  of 
them,  they  found  Mr.  Bird,  not  even 
in  bed,  but  comfortably  established  in 
an  easy  chair,  and  reading  a  news- 
paper. He  had  a  white  bandage 
round  his  head,  it  is  true  ;  but  the 
white  fillet  is  of  old  a  symbol  of  roy- 
alty ;  and  observance,  if  not  authority, 
is  an  attribute  of  invalids  which  may 
liken  them  to  the  ancient  kings. 

Adrian,  with  several  suspicions  con- 
tending in  his  mind,  watched  Bird's 
face  very  closely,  as  they  entered. 
He  had  barely  time  however  to  see 
him  look  up  astonished  and  displeased ; 
for  Katy  quickly  ran  up  to  him  and 
kissed  him. 


248 


Scrope 


The  Lost  Library. 


"All  right,  Kate,  as  long  as  you're 
here,"  he  said,  his  expression  chan- 
ging to  one  of  amused  resignation;  — 
"  I'm  all  correct  except  a  cut  on  my 
head  —  hut  let  me  see  that  shawl 
though,"  he  added,  his  face  lighting 
up  with  a  sudden  interest. 

She  took  it  off  and  handed  it  to 
him  ;  it  was  an  imitation  camel's  hair 
shawl,  with  some  white  along  the 
margin,  of  good  quality  and  size,  a 
good  deal  soiled,  but  not  particularly 
remarkable.  Bird  inspected  it  delib- 
erately, one  side  and  edge  after  an- 
other, as  one  looks  for  the  initials  on 
a  handkerchief,  but  with  a  peculiarly 
persistent  and  almost  microscopic  scru- 
tiny. As  he  came  to  the  last  corner, 
his  countenance  lighted  up.  "Kate, 
where  did  you  get  that  ?  " 

"  Miss  Van  Braam  let  me  take  it," 
said  the  girl,  readily,  still  speaking 
without  the  least  shade  of  brogue. 

"  She  did  !  "  exclaimed  Bird,  —  "  Is 
it  possible  !  "  And  he  looked  uncer- 
tain, as  one  does  who  reflects  upon 
news  that  is  good  and  bad  at  once. 

"  Mrs.  Barnes  gave  it  to  Civille  in 
the  station-house,"  observed  Adrian. 
"  And  Miss  Button  gave  it  to  Mrs. 
Barnes." 

"Ah!"  said  Bird,  with  obvious  re- 
lief—  "  Mrs.  Barnes  whose  baby  was 
turned  out  of  that  charitable  thing, 
isn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

"  Allow  me  to  make  you  acquainted 
with  my  sister.  Miss  Catherine  Bird," 
said  he,  as  one  who  takes  a  sudden 
resolution,  and  with  a  sufficiently  good 
manner ;  "  Kate,  my  friend  Mr.  Adri- 
an Chester." 

Adrian,  after  a  moment's  look  at 
Bird's  face,  which  wore  an  expression 
of  "It's  so, — the  cat's  out  of  the 
bag  !  "  and  another  at  the  young  lady, 
who  blushed  a  little,  but  not  much, 
made  his  manners,  not  without  a  shade 
of  embarrassment  or  rather  sense  of 


queerness,  and  bowed  to  his  new  ac- 
quaintance. 

"  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
Miss  Bird  already,"  he  said,  "  but  have 
not  had  the  honor  of  an  introduction." 

"  Come,"  said  Bird,  "  get  chairs 
and  sit  here ;  there's  nobody  in  the 
ward  "  —  he  glanced  round  the  room 
—  "  who  will  pay  any  attention. 
There's  been  more  trouble  than  I 
meant,  and  your  friends  sha'n't  have 
any  more  at  any  rate,  Mr.  Chester. 
As  for  Mr.  Button,  he  may  do  the 
best  he  can  "  — 

"  He  has  enough  trouble  already," 
said  Adrian,  gravely. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked 
Bird.  Adrian  hereupon  told  him  the 
story  of  his  yesterday's  experience 
after  their  meeting  in  Washington 
Place,  including  his  seeing  Ann  But- 
ton coming  out  of  the  store,  his  pass- 
ing the  place  where  at  the  same 
moment  Mr.  Button  had  been  struck 
down  with  palsy,  and  not  omitting 
his  experience  in  the  burning  build- 
ing. When  he  came  to  this  place, 
Bird  and  his  sister  interrupted  him 
to  thank  him ;  the  latter  with  tears, 
both  of  them,  after  their  manner,  with- 
out many  words.  But  there  was  more 
in  Bird's  steady  look  at  Adrian's  eyes, 
the  firm  grasp  of  his  hand,  and  his 
brief  "  I  won't  forget  it,  Chester,"  than 
in  a  whole  sensation  sermon  on  Thank- 
fulness. When  Adrian  had  ended, 
which  he  did  by  continuing  his  ac- 
count through  his  visit  to  the  police 
court  and  to  the  present  moment,  he 
began  to  state  his  theory  of  the  marge 
of  shoplifting. 

"Now  as  to  this  criminal  charge," 
he  said,  "  I  was  at  first  a  little  afraid 
that  my  cousin  Civille  might  have 
furnished  some  ground  for  it,  particu- 
larly after  you  assured  me  that  stolen 
goods  had  been  found  in  her  posses- 
sion. But"  —  he  glanced  at  Katy 
Bird  —  "I don't  care  who  found  them 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


219 


there,  I've  learned  what  sort  of  a 
woman  she  is  slnpe  these  two  visits 
of  mine  to  New  York.  People  think 
she's  queer  —  I  thought  so.  It's  be- 
cause she's  too  good  for  practical  pur- 
3,  that's  all.  If  a  ton  of  stolen 
were  found  in  her  room  —  if 
she  hadn't  a  garment  on  her  that 
wasn't  stolen  —  she  did  not  steal 
them,  whoever  did."  Here  Bird 
smiled  and  nodded,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  That's  right."  Adrian  resumed  : 
"  But  now  I  say  the  facts  are  these  " 
v — and  he  stopped.  He  would  not 
say  it  of  the  woman  to  whom  he  had 
been  betrothed,  and  whom  he  had  be- 
lieved a  kinswoman,  though  she  was 
relative  and  betrothed  no  longer. 

"Well?"  said  Bird. 

"  No,"  said  Adrian  ;  "  I  won't  state 
my  opinion.  But  I  think  if  Civille 
chooses  she  can  make  Jenks  & 
Trainor  pay  pretty  heavy  damages  for 
her  arrest  and  imprisonment ;  and  if 
Olds  hadn't  been  burnt  up  in  his  room, 
I  would  make  him  clear  up  the  whole 
thing,  if  I  had  to  murder  him." 

"  Poor  Olds !"  said  Bird,  "  he's  dead 
then."  And  he  looked  at  his  sister 
in  a  dubious  kind  of  way.  She  looked 
as  if  she  wanted  to  laugh  ;  a  grim 
display  from  a  young  lady  about  a 
death  by  fire. 

"  Remains  turned  into  gutta-percha, 
I  observe  by  the  paper,"  continued 
the  police  reporter,  in  the  same  queer 
mixed  manner  —  "  sad  business  !  But 
after  all,  Chester,  Miss  Van  Braam 
won't  want  to  sue  Jenks  &  Trainor, 
for  they  have  been  the  means  of  fur- 
nishing evidence  that  amounts  almost 
to  proof,  that  she  did  not  do  the  steal- 
ing, and  that  somebody  else  did." 

Adrian  looked  puzzled. 

"  It's  the  same  view  that's  in  your 
mind,"  said  Bird,  with  decision : 
"  only,  as  I  was  saying,  it's  proved, 
or  nearly  so.  It's  easy  to  see  that 
you  can't  like  to  speak  out  about  it. 


Now  I'll  make  a  clean  breast  of  it 
First  of  all,  I'm  Olds." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? " 
said  Adrian,  with  entire  incredulity. 

"  The  lamented  deceased,  you  re- 
member, had  the  eccentricity  of  only 
being  seen  in  the  evening.  It's  easy 
to  vary  one's  voice.  The  stuffed  suit 
and  soft  gutta-percha  mask  that  you 
found  on  the  bed  were  safe  enough 
to  wear  then  ;  in  the  day-time  they 
wouldn't  '  wash.'  And  a  man  can 
disguise  himself  to  be  bigger  than  he 
is  ;  not  so  easily  to  be  smaller." 

"  Bird,"  interrupted  Adrian,  "  why 
did  you  have  Civille  locked  up  over 
night?  That  was  not  the  right 
thing  to  do." 

"  I  couldn't  help  it  after  I  was 
knocked  in  the  head,  could  I  ?  "  said 
Bird,  coolly.  "  And  she  wouldn't 
have  been  put  into  a  cell  at  all  if 
the  officers  had  done  as  I  told  them. 
It  was  no  part  of  my  plan,  Chester. 
But  let  me  tell  you ;  it's  a  straight 
story.  I  was  Amos  Olds  in  the  even- 
ing, and  Mr.  Bird  the  police  reporter 
all  day.  Jenks  &  Trainor  employed 
me  to  work  up  this  case  some  time 
ago,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before 
I  could  find  any  clew  at  all.  At 
last  I  settled  on  our  two  lady  friends, 
but  I  couldn't  tell  which.  Then  I 
got  Katy  to  go  and  live  in  their 
houses  at  different  times." 

"  And  you  had  the  face  to  make 
love  to  her  yourself,  you  scamp ! " 
said  Adrian,  half  amused  and  half 
disposed  to  be  angry. 

"  All  in  the  way  of  business," 
answered  Mr.  Bird,  with  calmness. 
"  Besides,  it's  a  free  country.  A  cat 
may  look  at  a  king.  I  couldn't  tell 
what  means  would  prevail.  And  I 
confess  that  it  would  have  been  foolish 
for  me  to  try  it  in  earnest.  And  least 
of  all,  you  needn't  complain,  I  reckon ! " 
concluded  the  detective,  significantly. 

"  But   do   you   mean   to   say  that 


!50 


Scrope 


The  Lost  Library. 


you  really  suspected  Civille  ? "  said 
Adrian,  rather  hotly,  but  blushing. 

"  Weren't  you  half  afraid  or  more 
that  it  might  be  she  yourself?" 

Adrian  was  silent.  "  Besides,"  re- 
sumed Bird,  "  in  such  a  case  one 
must  proceed  by  the  facts.  If  you 
allow  yourself  to  believe  to  begin 
with,  that  anybody  —  anybody,  I 
don't  care  who,  —  my  own  sister; 
the  worst  thief  in  the  city, — either 
is  guilty  or  is  not,  you  are  pretty 
sure  to  blunder.  There's  only  one 
line  to  follow  :  keep  your  eyes  wide 
open  ;  find  out  every  thing  you  can  ; 
reason  as  you  go  along ;  but  be  ready 
to  throw  away  all  your  conclusions 
at  the  very  last  moment  if  the  facts 
balance  the  other  way." 

"I  should  kill  myself,  I  think," 
said  Adrian,  "  rather  than  to  follow 
a  business  where  I  had  to  be  ready 
to  think  ill  of  everybody." 

"Oh,  you  must  be  equally  ready 
to  think  well  of  anybody"  answered 
the  detective,  with  an  emphasis  that 
doubled  his  meaning ;  "  and  I  guess 
you'd  find  that  the  most  surprising 
part.  But  I  think  what  I  enjoy  is, 
getting  at  the  facts." 

"  Then  you  do  really  enjoy  the 
business  ?  " 

"  You  couldn't  coax  me  to  follow 
any  other,"  was  the  reply ;  "  I  love 
it  so  that  I  perfectly  understand  why 
a  thief  won't  stop  stealing.  Katy  is 
about  as  fond  of  it  as  I  am.  —  Well  ; 
the  person  I  have  been  shadowing  is 
as  cunning  as  the  Old  Scratch,  and 
in  spite  of  us  we  couldn't  make  our 
arrangements  fetch.  Now  the  charac- 
ters of  these  two  young  ladies  are  very 
different,  and  I  reasoned  that  while 
Mr.  Van  Braam  was  so  ill,  if  I  had  his 
daughter  locked  up,  she  was  a  person 
who  would  tell  a  perfectly  straight 
story  one  way  or  another,  in  order  to 
get  back  to  the  old  gentleman,  and  so 
I  tried  it.     I  don't  know  of  any  thing, 


at  present,  that  would  make  the 
other  open  that  tight  mouth  of  hers. 
But  Miss  Van  Braam  was  to  have 
been  detained  with  the  matron  at 
head-quarters,  not  locked  up  in  a  cell 
at  the  station,  and  I  should  have  talked 
with  her  and  made  every  thing  right 
that  afternoon  if  I  had  not  been 
hurt." 

"  How  came  you  in  that  room,  any 
how?"  asked  Adrian. 

"  Oh,  I  had  a  little  money  and 
some  papers  that  I  couldn't  very  well 
lose,"  answered  Bird,  with  a  smile 
and  a  gesture  to  his  breast  pocket,  — 
"I  came  along  after  the  fire  had  got 
well  agoing,  and  slid  up  by  the  side 
door.  I  was  getting  out  all  right 
when  something  hit  me  a  tremendous 
bang  on  the  head,  and  I  didn't  know 
any  thing  more  until  I  woke  up  in 
the  bed  here.  Slight  concussion  of 
the  brain,  they  said ;  a  very  dan- 
gerous blow." 

"  Well,  what  struck  you  ?  " 

"  I  can't  think  of  any  thing  except 
this :  I  was  passing  before  that  tall 
wardrobe  of  mine,  and  I  remember 
that  just  before  I  was  hit,  a  second 
stream  of  water  came  flying  bang 
through  the  window.  It  must  have 
hit  my  big  plaster  Shakspeare  on 
top  of  the  wardrobe  and  upset  it  on 
me.  It  wasn't  convenient  to  investi- 
gate, but  that's  m}'  theory.  —  So  now, 
last  of  all,  here  come  you  and  Katy, 
who  got  excited  and  dropped  her 
Irish,  and  I  had  to  explain.  And  as 
you  were  so  good  as  to  get  me  out 
of  that  furnace,  I  can't  very  well  do 
less  than  to  help  you  out  of  your 
annoyance,  so  far  as  necessary.  You 
and  the  doctor  have  done  it  already 
though,  for  what  I  see.  There's  no 
danger  except  whatever  risk  there  is  of 
the  newspapers  getting  hold  of  it.  I 
see  no  names  in  the  police  reports  this 
morning  ;  and  I  guess  we  can  manage 
it  now,  without  exposing  anybody." 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


251 


"But  the  proof  you  spoke  of?" 
said  Adrian. 

"Oh,  yes. — This  shawl  has  the 
private  mark  that  Jenks  &  Trainor 
have  had  stitched  into  an  immense 
quantity  of  their  fine  goods,  this  six 
months.  When  a  purchase  is  made, 
the  cash  boy  goes  to  the  cashier 
with  the  money  and  a  ticket,  and 
the  goods  are  taken  at  the  same  time 
to  be  checked  off  and  tied  up.  They 
took  out  the  private  mark  when  they 
did  up  the  goods,  so  that  if  an  article 
from  their  store  has  the  mark  on  it, 
it's  almost  certain  that  it  was  stolen. 
They  can  tell  what  invoice  the  shawl 
was  from,  and  nearly  when  it  was 
taken,  too.  I  have  studied  all  their 
fine  goods  this  good  while ;  I  recog- 
nized that  cashmere  the  moment  I 
saw  it.  When  Katy  said  that  Miss 
Van  Braam  gave  it  to  her,  I  couldn't 
help  my  thoughts,  though  I  wondered 
at  it's  being  so  dirty ;  but  when  you 
explained  that  it  came  to  Miss  Van 
Braam  from  that  Barnes  woman  and 
to  her  from  Miss  Button  —  why,  I 
guess  it's  a  pretty  clear  case." 

"  But  consider  the  situation,  won't 
you  ?  "  remonstrated  Adrian.  "  Mr. 
Button  may  be  dying  this  moment ; 
he's  effectually  broken  down,  the  doc- 
tor says,  even  if  he  lives.  As  for  his 
son,  you  know  what's  the  matter  with 
him.  —  Are  you  really  going  to  try  to 
make  the  family  any  more  trouble  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  —  make  yourself  easy. 
Mr.  Button  must  pay  Jenks  & 
Trainor's  bill,  and  the  young  lady 
must  keep  her  fingers  to  herself  in 
future,  that's  all.  Nobody  wants  to 
make  any  scandal." 

"  What  about  the  lace  ? "  asked 
Adrian. 

"  I've  no  doubt  in  my  own  mind," 
said  the  detective,  "  that  the  thief 
put  that  in  among  Miss  Van  Braam's 
parcels — You  said  she  had  a  good 
many  that  day,  Katy  ?  " 


eight  at  least ;  the  lace  was  rolled  up 
small  amongst  them,  but  not  pa- 
pered." 

Adrian  now  remembered  the  sug- 
gestion that  Katy  had  made  to 
Civille  at  Mr.  Button's,  viz.,  that 
if  Civille  had  missed  any  thing,  she, 
Katy,  could  account  for  it. 

"  So  you  found  this  among  Civille's 
parcels,"  he  said,  "  and  you  were 
hinting  it  to  her  in  Mr.  Button's 
supper-room  that  evening  ?  —  But  I 
remember  her  answering  very  quietly 
that  she  hadn't  missed  any  thing; 
what  did  you  conclude  from  that  ?  " 

"We  thought,"  said  the  young 
lady,  "  that  either  she  knew  nothing 
about  the  lace,  or  that  she  knew  how 
to  appear  exactly  as  if  she  did  not." 

"  It  was  a  sharp  dodge,"  said 
Bird  ;  "  and  it  would  leave  me  doubt- 
ful now  if  it  wasn't  for  this  shawl." 

"  Well,"  remarked  Adrian  reflec- 
tively ;  "  I  suppose  that  when  you 
spoke  to  Katy  on  the  stairs  at  Mr. 
Button's  on  the  evening  of  the  party, 
it  was  to  arrange  about  the  supper- 
room  question  ?  " 

They  laughed.  "  Yes,"  said  Bird. 
"I  didn't  think  anybody  would  see 
that,  Chester.  You  have  a  quick 
eye  and  a  quick  wit.  You'd  do  well 
in  our  business." 

"  No,"  said  Adrian,  "  I'd  as  soon 
live  in  the  sewers.  —  Beg  pardon,  I 
didn't  mean  any  thing  against  those 
that  like  it." 

"  A  difference  of  opinion  makes 
horse-races,"  answered  Bird,  "  as 
they  say  in  Kentucky.     No  harm." 

There  was  a  little  further  conver- 
sation, during  which  it  was  arranged 
that  Bird  should  see  the  police 
authorities  and  other  parties  in  in- 
terest, so  as  to  give  an  official  and 
final  character  to  the  provisional 
arrangements  which  had  been  already 
effected   about   the   charge  of  theft. 


252 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


Bird  said  he  should  stay  one  day 
more  at  the  hospital,  as  the  physician 
recommended  a  day's  quiet ;  but  that 
he  was  promised  that  he  should  he 
all  right  next  morning.  It  was 
further  agreed  that  Katy  should  at 
once  make  some  further  researches 
which  she  said  had  occurred  to  her 
as  worth  trying.  "  What  are  they  ?  " 
asked  Adrian.  Katy  shook  her 
head.  "I  don't  know  that  it  will 
amount  to  any  thing,"  she  said  ;  "  if 
it  does,  "  — 

Bird  smiled.  "  I'm  a  phrenologist," 
he  observed,  "  thoroughly  for  the  in- 
side of  the  head,  and  a  good  deal  for 
the  outside." 

"  I  am  too,"  said  Adrian ;  "  but 
what  is  the  point  ?  " 

"  Oh,  only  this:  secretiveness  is  even 
more  important  for  a  detective  than 
for  a  criminal,  because  he  has  the 
criminal's  secretiveness  to  overcome. 
!Now  no  secretive  person  likes  to  tell 
what  he  is  going  to  do ;  it's  all  he 
can  bear  to  tell  what  he  has  done. 
That's  all;  so  Katy's  shaking  her 
head  is  a  kind  of  official  announce- 
ment. Besides,  I  sometimes  almost 
think  that  it  kills  the  life  of  a  plan 
to  name  it." 

"  That's  very  true,"  commented 
Adrian,  as  he  got  up ;  "a  purpose  is 
like  an  egg ;  if  you  break  the  shell, 
it  spoils  very  quickly ;  if  there  isn't 
a  chicken  then,  there  never  will 
be." 

'■'  Correct,"  said  Bird  :  "  good  morn- 
ing —  by-bye,  Katy ;  see  you  to- 
morrow at  nine  o'clock,  at  the  other 
place."     And  off  they  went. 

Adrian  accompanied  Katy  nearly 
home,  and  then  leaving  her  to  go  and 
report  to  Civille,  —  but  borrowing 
the  shawl,  —  went  to  Dr.  Veroil's,  and 
not  finding  him,  to  Mr.  Button's. 
Here  ne  asked  for  the  doctor,  and 
was  shown  into  the  parlor,  where  in 


a  few  moments  Veroil  came  down  to 
him. 

"  How  is  he  ?"  asked  Adrian. 

"  Has  rather  more  Command  of  the 
left  side,  according  to  the  usual  rule 
of  re-actions  in  such  cases,"  said  the 
physician.  "  The  first  shock  of  the 
attack  disarranges  the  whole  system  ; 
then  there  is  a  partial  recovery  —  if 
any  —  as  far  as  the  vital  forces  of  the 
patient  can  repair  the  evil ;  the  ex- 
tent of  this  recovery  measures  th'3 
real  violence  of  the  attack  ;  and  then 
the  system  waits  for  the  next  assault, 
like  a  besieged  fort  for  the  opening 
of  the  second  parallel,  after  it  has 
been  unable  to  prevent  the  estab- 
lishment of  the  first." 

"  Is  there  never  any  recovery  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  known  a  complete 
recovery.  Quiet  and  trifling  occupa- 
tions, comfort,  the  diet  almost  of  a 
baby,  have  often  prolonged  life ;  but 
a  stroke  ends  the  furious  activities 
of  the  Man.  —  But  have  you  seen 
Bird  ?  " 

Adrian,  in  reply  gave  a  brief  sum- 
mary of  the  interview.  The  doctor 
listened  with  much  interest,  nodding 
at  the  revelation  of  the  complicity  of 
Katy,  as  much  as  to  say,  "I  said  so 
this  morning"  —  but  staring  with 
amused  surprise  at  the  account  of  the 
gutta-percha  remains  of  the  supposed 
Olds. 

"Why,"  he  said,  "this  Bird's  a 
perfect  Phoenix;  he  rises  out  of  the 
ashes  of  his  predecessor  younger  and 
handsomer ! " 

"  Here's  the  shawl,"  said  Adrian. 
The  doctor's  face  grew  serious,  as  he 
examined  the  soiled  cashmere  with 
that  interest  which  attaches  to  things, 
as  well  as  to  persons,  that  have  been 
significant  instruments.  A  servant 
entered  the  room,  and  said  to  Adrian, 
"If  you  please,  Mr.  Button  says  he 
must  see  you." 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


;0; 


"Very  well,"  said  the  young  man. 

''  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  very 
well,"  said  the  doctor,  discontentedly, 
'•  but  I  suppose  it  must  he  so.  He  is 
so  excessively  irritable  that  it  will  he 
worse  to  say  no  than  yes,  probably. 
He  can  speak  this  morning,  but  very 
indistinctly.  And  Adrian,  don't  be 
startled  at  his  looks.  And  what- 
ever he  wants  to  know,  we'll  let  him 
know  it.  It  can't  make  much  differ- 
ence. —  he  may  as  well  have  his  own 
way,  as  far  as  we  can  make  it  so.  He 
won't  find  he'll  have  much  of  it,  at 
the  hands  of  those  two  ladies,  I 
guess  !  " 

And  the  two  men  went  up  stairs 
to  the  sick-room. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

A  certain  horror  is  a  just  conclu- 
sion by  logic  of  facts,  at  all  suffering 
or  misfortune  whatever.  No  death  is 
strictly  appropriate,  according  to  per- 
fect humanity,  except  the  quiet  and 
welcome  death  of  old  age.  Accord- 
ingly, what  we  feel  at  knowing  or 
witnessing  such  a  death,  has  nothing 
of  horror,  but  only  a  natural  ap- 
prehension at  the  transition  into  a 
new  state  of  existence.  Every  other 
death  is  violent,  because  it  is  prema- 
ture ;  it  is  the  failure  of  an  organism 
to  complete  its  full  cycle ;  the  ex- 
tinction of  an  immature  life ;  the 
hurrying  of  a  soul  into  a  new  phase 
before  it  has  duly  ripened  in  the  ex- 
periences of  the  previous  one.  This 
disappointment  corresponds  to,  and 
renders  natural,  the  startled  feeling, 
the  horror,  which  is  more  or  less  ex- 
perienced, at  violent  deaths,  at  deaths 
of  young  persons,  of  the  strong  and 
active. 

The  like  truth  is  involved  in  the 
horror  which  is  felt  at  witnessing  the 
sufferings  or  sickness  of  others ;  suf- 


fering and  sickness  are  violations  of 
the  natural  state  of  man,  who  was 
meant  to  be  well  and  happy.  As 
grown  persons  can  reason  and  resist 
and  endure,  we  are  less  agonized  at 
their  suffering.  But  the  sickness  of 
infants  impresses  us  with  a  peculiar 
pain,  almost  as  if  the  soft  helpless 
little  things  were  wantonly  tortured. 
In  the  next  degree  to  this  sympa- 
thetic pain  over  infants  who  suffer, 
comes  that  which  is  felt  from  the  suf- 
ferings of  strong  or  healthy  people 
whose  life  is  yet  unexpended  in  them, 
and  who  are  therefore  in  some  obscure 
way  felt  to  have  some  title  of  some 
kind  to  the  enjoyment  of  their  natu- 
ral activities. 

Without  any  articulate  statement 
or  distinct  consciousness  of  all  this, 
it  was"  such  an  instinctive  pain  which 
quietly  settled  upon  Adrian  as  he 
followed  Dr.  ■  Veroil  to  the  bedside. 
Although  he  carefully  set  his  counte- 
nance to  look  cheerful,  in  accordance 
with  the  spirit  of  the  physician's  cau- 
tion, he  could  scarcely  help  a  shiver  as 
he  saw  the  distorted  features  of  the 
man  whom  he  had  left  the  day  before  so 
powerful,  so  active,  so  resolute,  so  full 
of  purpose  and  of  multiplied  plans,  of 
conscious  abounding  ability  to  exe- 
cute them  all.  —  One  side  of  the  bluff, 
broad  face  was  sunk  and  blighted  by 
the  frightful  half-death  of  the  disease  ; 
the  eye  was"  shut,  the  mouth  drawn 
down.  The  other  eye  was  open,  and 
moved  restlessly  ;  tremors  of  nervous 
irritation  flitted  now  and  then  across 
the  visage ;  the  left  hand,  lying  out- 
side the  bed-clothes,  moved  uneasily. 
As  Adrian  came  up  to  the  bedside, 
the  sick  man,  looking  up  to  him,  ut- 
tered thick  and  indistinct  sounds, 
which  only  an  ear  as  quick  as  Adrian's, 
or  as  experienced  as  the  physician's, 
could  understand  to  be  a  greeting  ? 
what  he  tried  to  say  was, 


254 


Scrope ;  or,   The  Lost  Library. 


"  Glad  to  see  you,  Adrian.  Didn't 
expect  this.  Last  of  me,  I  guess." 
And  the  enfeebled  left  hand  dragged 
towards  him  over  the  bed-clothes. 
Adrian  pressed  it  gently,  and  held  it 
a  few  moments ;  and  then  he  ex- 
changed salutations  with  Mrs.  Button 
and  with  Ann,  who  sat  in  gloomy 
grandeur  at  the  further  side  of  the 
bed. 

"  Send  away  the  women,"  said  the 
sick  man,  in  the  same  painful  strug- 
gling imperfect  way. 

Mrs.  Button  remonstrated,  with  a 
good  deal  of  sharpness.  "  I  don't 
choose  to  be  absent  from  my  hus- 
band's bedside  at  such  a  time,"  she 
said.  "  It's  my  right  and  my  duty 
to  be  here.  Besides,  I  expect  Dr. 
Toomston  every  moment,  to  pray  with 
us." 

"  And  anint  me  with  ile  ?  "  said 
the  sick  man,  indistinctly.  "  Let  'em 
stay  then.  Worse  for  them.  Doctor, 
got  a  little  while  ?  " 

Dr.  Veroil  nodded. 

"Writing  things,"  said  Mr.  But- 
ton. 

"  Oh,  he  is  certainly  quite  incom- 
petent to  make  a  will,"  said  Mrs. 
Button,  who  was  not  very  profound 
on  the  subject  of  medical  jurispru- 
dence. It  was  evident  that  the  pa- 
tient was  irritated  at  this  resistance 
to  his  wish,  for  his  face  flushed,  and 
he  repeated  with  more  distinctness, 
as  if  his  passion  almost  subdued  his 
disease, 

"  Writing  things." 

"Be  quiet,"  said  the  doctor —  "be 
quiet,  or  you'll  put  yourself  where  you 
can't  do  any  tiling.  You  shall  have 
it  just  as  you  like,  but  don't  you  get 
excited,  —  And  ladies,  you  will  resist 
Mr.  Button's  wishes  at  your  peril," 
he  continued,  with  that  prompt  stern- 
ness of  his  which  seemed  so  out  of 
harmony    with    his    ordinary    genial 


and  jovial  ways  —  "  Let  us  have  the 
writing  things  instantly.      If  not,"  — 

With  a  most  bitter  bad  grace,  Mrs. 
Button  brought  a  writing  desk.  Doc- 
tor Veroil  made  ready  to  write. 

"  Write  after  me,  doctor,"  said  Mr. 
Button  ;  and  he  dictated,  two  or  three 
words  at  a  time,  as  follows  : 

Dear  Civille  :  I  got  you  into  the  trou- 
ble at  Jenks  &  Trainor's.  It  was  I  who  did 
it  all.  My  father  saw  ine  at  it.  It  brought 
on  his  attack.     I  ask  your  pardon. 

"  Oil,  he's  quite  out  of  his  head," 
said  Mrs.  Button,  impatiently  ;  "that's 
all  nonsense.  His  father !  he  died 
forty  years  ago  !  he's  perfectly  de- 
mented ! " 

"All  down?  "said  the  sick  man. 
Either  the  continuous  exercise  of  his 
faculties  and  his  organs  was  making 
it  easier  to  use  them,  or  else  the 
leaden  hand  of  the  disease  was  relax- 
ing its  hold,  or  else  the  steady  power- 
ful will  of  the  man,  intensifying  and 
multiplying  its  force  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  an  important  occasion, 
was  fighting  its  way  up  against  the 
awful  burden  of  paralysis :  at  any 
rate,  he  spoke  with  greater  clearness. 

"  All  down,"  responded  the  writer. 

"  Ann,  copy  that  and  sign  it,"  said 
Mr.  Button. 

Ann  Button  gave  a  start;  rose 
from  her  chair  ;  sat  down  again  ;  cast 
down  her  eyes,  set  her  lips  together, 
and  was  silent. 

"  Ann,  copy  that  and  sign  it,"  re- 
peated her  father. 

"Anjesinthy  Button,"  said  her 
mother,  "  I  forbid  your  doing  any  such 
thing." 

The  girl  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

"  All  right,"  said  Mr.  Button : 
"  take  another  sheet."  The  doctor 
did  so.  "  Write  again."  And  he 
dictated  again  : 

To  all  whom  it  may  concern :  I  hereby 
constitute    and     appoint   Adrian    Scrope 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


255 


Chester  of  Hartford,  State  of  Connecticut, 
my  general  agent  and  attorney,  with  full 
powers  — 

There  was  a  start  of  surprise  by  all 
the  company.  "He  can't  execute 
any  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Button,  in  a 
moment,  with  decision,  —  "he  can't 
sign  any  tiling,  anyhow." 

Adrian  was  about  to  speak,  but  Mr. 
Button  cast  towards  him  a  look  of  in- 
describable anxiety  and  beseeching. 

"Don't  fail  me,  Adrian,"  he  said. 

"Wait  a  little,  at  any  rate,"  re- 
marked the  doctor.  Adrian  felt  the 
force  both  of  the  patient's  imploring 
look,  and  of  Mrs.  Button's  grimly 
practical  comment ;  and  he  nodded 
assent.     Mr.  Button  resumed  : 

—  full  powers  to  take  charge  of  all  my 
property  and  business  of  every  kind,  and 
to  consult  with  me  and  report  to  me  exclu- 
sively but  no  further  than  his  own  discre- 
tion may  suggest;  and  to  and  with  no  one 
else  unless  he  wishes,  and  to  make  for  me 
all  purchases  and  sales;  and  to  execute  and 
sign  for  me  all  deeds,  agreements  and  instru- 
ments necessary  for  managing  my  said  prop- 
erty and  for  acting  with  a>  full  authority 
as  I  could  have  in  and  about  my  said  busi- 
ness. Said  Chester  to  sign  as  such  attorney 
as  follows:  T.  Button,  by  Chester  atty. 
And  my  first  purpose  in  this  appointment 
is  that  said  Chester  shall  as  soon  as  possible 
dispose  of  my  publishing  business  to  the 
best  advantage  and  invest  the  proceeds  in  a 
safe  and  permanent  manner,  and  to  pay  over 
quarterly  one  half  the  net  income  of  my  said 
business  or  property  to  the  order  of  my  wife, 
and  to  invest  the  other  half  at  his  discretion 
as  my  said  attorney,  in  the  manner  afore- 
said. And  I  hereby  declare  in  case  of  my 
death  that  I  make  and  proclaim  this  as  my 
last  will  and  testament;  and  in  particular  I 
declare  that  my  daughter  Ann  has  this  day 
in  my  presence  refused  to  write  and  sign 
as  I  required,  and  that  I  therefore  will  and 
direct  that  my  wife  shall  receive  from  my 
estate  after  my  death  only  what  the  law 
would  give  her  as  dower  if  I  died  intestate, 
and  that  I  leave  nothing  to  my  children, 
expecting  their  mother  to  support  them; 
and  I  give  and  bequeath  in  consequence 
of  my  said  daughter's  said  refusal,  one  half 
of  all  the  rest  of  my  property  real  and 
personal  over  and  above  such  legal  dower 
to  the  Eleventh  Presbyterian  Church,  now 
known  as  Dr.  Toomston's  church,  as  a  fund 


for  the  maintenance  of  said  church  and 
its  charities,  to  be  held  and  administered 
like  the  other  property  of  said  church; 
and  the  other  half  of  said  property  over 
and  above  said  dower  I  give  and  bequeath 
in  consequence'  of  my  said  daughter's  said 
refusal,  to  Civille  Van  Braam,  daughter  of 
Adrian  Scrope  Van  Braam  of  New  York 
City,  in  token  of  my  beli#f  in  her  goodness. 
But  if  my  said  daughter  had  obeyed  me, 
then  my  will  would  have  been  to  leave  my 
whole  estate  in  three  equal  parts  ;  one 
third  part  to  my  said  wife  for  herself;  one 
third  part  to  my  said  wife  in  trust  to  be  used 
at  her  discretion  for  the  support  of  my  son 
William;  and  one  third  part  to  my  said 
daughter  Ann  for  herself.  And  said  Chester 
is  to  receive  nothing  for  services  as  execu- 
tor in  case  of  my  death ;  and  for  services  as 
my  said  agent  and  attorney  he  is  to  receive 
one  ronth  of  the  net  income  of  my  property 
and  business,  to  be  paid  quarterly  upon  a 
quarterly  balance-sheet.  And  I  will  and 
request  that  in  case  of  his  acting  as  such 
executor,  no  bonds  be  required  of  him  as 
such  executor. 


The  sick  man  paused,  and  ap- 
peared to  reflect.  Having  done  so, 
he  said, 

"Read." 

Dr.  Veroil  read  the  whole  instru- 
ment, deliberately  and  distinctly. 

The  listening  of  the  two  women 
was  a  phenomenon  of  intensity.  At 
the  clauses  which  were  to  give  the 
young  attorney  such  absolute  and  un- 
controlled authority  —  uncontrolled 
even  by  the  owner  himself — of  the 
great  possessions  of  the  capitalist,  an 
expression  of  contemptuous  anger 
crossed  Mrs.  Button's  face  ;  and  this 
was  repeated  more  plainly  at  the 
provisions  respecting  the  alternative 
testamentary  dispositions  of  the  es- 
tate. And  at  these  last,  Miss  Ann 
Button,  looking  up  from  the  floor  for 
the  first  time  since  her  silent  dis- 
obedience to  her  father's  command, 
showed  full  as  angry  an  interest  as 
her  mother.  An  unlovely  pair  of 
faces ! 

"Anjesinthy,  step  this  waj',"  said 
Mrs.  Button,  and  the  two  women  went 


256 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


to  the  window  and  consulted  in  whis- 
pers. 

"  Ring  bell,"  said  Mr.  Button.  A 
servant  came. 

"Bring  another,"  said  the  sick 
man.  "  Witnesses,"  he  added.  Two 
of  the  servants  were  soon  at  hand. 

"  Pat  seal,"  said  Mr.  Button.  Dr. 
Veroil  affixed  opposite  the  place  for 
signing,  the  usual  representative  of 
the  ancient  seal. 

"Lift  me  up,"  said  Mr.  Button. 
Tluj' did  so.  "Put  the  desk  here," 
he  said.  The  writing  desk,  with  the 
paper  on  it  was  laid  upon  his  knees 
as  he  sat  up  among  the  pillows. 

"  Pen,"  he  said.  Veroil  looked 
surprised.  "  Left  hand,"  said  But- 
ton, with  inexpressible  resolution  in 
his  voice  and  his  face.  Without  a 
word,  Dr.  Veroil  dipped  the  pen  in 
the  ink,  placed  it  in  the  trembling 
left  hand  of  the  sick  man,  laid  the 
hand  upon  the  paper,  and  was  going 
to  guide  it. 

"  No.  Alone.  My  act  and  deed," 
said  Mr.  Button;  and  with  an  effort 
concentrated  and  intense  far  beyond 
the  steady  resolution  which  had  ena- 
bled him  to  dictate  the  instrument  it- 
self, he  traced  upon  the  paper,  slowly, 
awkwardly,  but  without  stopping 
once,  a  tangle  of  heavy,  shaken,  spat- 
tery  lines,  in  which  could  neverthe- 
less be  recognized  the  signature  of 
"  Tarbox  Button." 

"  I  declare  this  to  be  my  free  act 
and  deed,"  he  said,  "  and  I  execute 
and  deliver  it  as  my  last  will  and  tes- 
tament ;  "  and  he  fell  back,  silent  and 
exhausted.  The  servants  signed  as 
witnesses,  as  Dr.  Veroil  directed  them, 
and  the  doctor  himself  signed  after 
them.  Mrs.  Button  and  Ann  were 
meanwhile  absorbed  in  their  discus- 
sion ;  Doctor  Veroil,  having  folded 
the  paper,  gave  it  to  Adrian. 

"  The  power  is  executed,  ladies," 


said  the  doctor.  "  Permit  me  to  urge 
you  to  comply  with  Mr.  Button's  wish 
in  regard  to  this  note." 

He  spoke  with  emphasis,  and  even 
the  two  angry  foolish  women  were 
startled  into  attention. 

"  He  can't  write  a  word,"  said  Mrs. 
Button.  "  What  do  you  mean,  doc- 
tor ?  " 

"  Perhaps  he  could  not  at  this  mo- 
ment," said  Dr.  Veroil,  with  a  com- 
passionate glance  at  the  distorted 
face  on  the  pillow.  "But  he  has  will 
enough  for  ten  men.  He  signed  with 
the  left  hand.  It's  the  greatest  tri- 
umph of  mind  over  matter  that  I 
ever  saw.  If  he  could  only  inject  it 
into  the  nerves  of  the  right  side 
again  !  But  I  fear  the  bridge  is  bro- 
ken down  that  way.  See  here, 
madam.     Look,  Miss  Button." 

And  taking  the  document  from 
Adrian,  he  stepped  round  and  showed 
the  signature,  the  witnesses'  names, 
the  seal,  to  the  astonished  women  ;  and 
with  intelligent  adaptation,  he  read 
aloud  the  part  calculated  to  impress 
them  most,  the  caption  over  the  wit- 
nesses' names,  with  its  legal  verbosity  : 
"  Signed,  sealed  and  delivered  as  his 
free  act  and  deed  and  as  his  last  will 
and  testament,  in  the  presence  of  the 
following  witnesses,  who  have  signed 
their  names  as  such  witnesses  in  the 
presence  of  the  said  Tarbox  But- 
ton." 

Mrs.  Button  and  her  daughter  ex- 
amined in  silence  the  inky  tangle  of 
shaking  sprawling  lines.  But  the 
tremendous  will  of  the  sick  man, 
shattered  as  was  its  bodily  tabernacle 
and  instrument,  had  too  plainly  delin- 
eated the  letters  of  his  name,  even 
amidst  the  darkness  and  weakness  of 
his  overmastering  disease,  to  permit 
the  shadow  of  a  real  doubt  or  contra- 
diction, however  mutinous  the  disposi- 
tion might  be.     But   neither   of  the 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


257 


women  was  deficient  in  obstinacy  nor 
in  cunning. 

"  I'll  consider  upon  it,  doctor,"  said 
Mrs.  Button  ;  "  I'll  give  you  an  an- 
swer to-morrow.  You'll  leave  the 
paper  for  me  to  examine  at  leisure, 
won't  }'ou  ?  " 

"  A  copy,  certainly,  madam,"  was 
the  polite  —  and  prudent  —  reply,  and 
a  copy  was  made  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
with  a  grave  how  was  handed  to  Mrs. 
Button.  This  done,  the  doctor  made 
a  careful  and  detailed  examination  of 
his  patient;  gave  explicit  directions 
not  to  have  him  disturbed;  arranged 
to  send  proper  nurses ;  and  was  tak- 
ing leave,  when  the  sick  man,  open- 
ing the  one  eye  that  he  could  move, 
muttered  something. 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  the  physician, 
bending  over  him. 

"  I've  got  'em,  —  they'll  come  to 
it,"  said  Mr.  Button,  feebly. 

"  Yes,  they  will,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  I  want  the  Van  Braams  to  stay 
in  the  old  house,"  continued  Button. 

"Well,  I  guess  we  can  arrange  it," 
said  the  doctor ;  and  with  a  kind 
farewell  to  the  patient  and  a  polite 
one  to  the  ladies,  he  turned  to  leave 
the  room.  "I'll  come  in  one  moment, 
doctor,"  said  Adrian.  He  stepped 
round  the  bed  to  where  Mrs.  Button 
and  Ann  were  still  talking  in  whis- 
pers.. They  both  looked  at  him  with 
a  sullen  anger,  hateful  enough  to  see. 
"  Ann,"  said  he,  handing  her  the  par- 
cel which  he  had  kept  with  him,  — 
"  there's  the  shawl  which  you  gave 
Mrs.  Barnes  "  — 

"  I  don't  want  it,"  said  the  girl, 
sourly. 

"  But  Mrs.  Barnes  gave  it  to  Ci- 
ville,  and  Civille  to  Katy,  that  lived 
here  with  you  for  a  while;  and  Katy 
is  a  detective,  and  the  shawl  has 
Jenks  &  Trainor's  private  mark  on 
it"  — 


She  seized  it  promptly  enough  now. 
And  Adrian,  bowing,  followed  the 
physician,  for  he  expected  that  this 
glimpse  of  her  position  would  have 
more  influence  upon  the  young 
woman  than  a  fuller  explanation  of 
it ;  and  he  was  not  unwilling  that  she 
shonld  be  able  to  destroy  this  mate- 
rial proof  against  herself.  He  did 
not  much  consider,  nor  care,  whether 
he  had  a  strictly  legal  right  to  give 
her  the  shawl,  and  he  meant  the  gift 
to  be  a  hint  of  his  own  good  will. 

CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

"Fear  is  moral  rum,"  remarked 
Veroil,  as  the  two  men  walked  away 
from  Mr.  Button's.  "  I  bullied  those 
women.  I've  done  it  before.  But 
you  whip  an  ugly  boy  who  is  poison- 
ing your  school,  if  you  cannot  wait 
for  more  healthy  moral  regimen. 
Once  well  stimulated  into  obedience, 
the  diet  of  health  will  probably  serve. 
If  he  falls  into  another  moral  col- 
lapse, intoxicate  him  again,  if  neces- 
sary. Fear  is  prompt.  Love  is  grad- 
ual. For  barbarians,  for  brutes  two- 
legged  or  four-legged,  fear  may  be 
absolutely  indispensable.  Wisdom 
requires,  not  the  absolute  disuse  of  it, 
but  the  substitution  of  higher  mo- 
tives as  soon  as  possible.  These  fel- 
lows who  want  the  rowdy  boys  of  the 
public  schools  of  a  great  city  like 
New  York  to  know  that  there  will  be 
no  whipping,  are  offering  a  little 
sweet  oil  to  an  ugly  beast.  Very 
likely  a  white  hot  poker  to  sear  his 
nose  will  hardly  keep  him  off  you." 

Adrian,  assenting  to  the  doctrine, 
further  expressed  his  surprise  at  the 
readiness  and  efficiency  of  the  phy- 
sician in  taking  charge  not  only  of 
the  person  but  of  the  family  and  busi- 
ness of  the  patient  all  together. 

"  Oh,"  said  Veroil,  "  it  was  rather 


!58 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


irregular,  no  doubt.  But  a  doctor 
might  as  well  be  ready  to  be  clergy- 
man and  lawyer,  in  a  case  like  this, 
where  he  is  a  kind  of  personal  friend 
also,  and  where  the  questions  are  so 
mixed.  It  wouldn't  do,  in  this  case, 
for  instance,  to   send   for    a   lawyer ; 

that  Mrs.    Button,   I  mean,  — 

would  have  made  trouble  ;  the  patient 
was  very  irritable  and  weak  ;  and  the 
sudden  way  I  guess  was  the  only  way 
to  do  it.  I  believe  those  women 
would  have  committed  any  crime  ne- 
cessary —  on  the  spur  of  the  moment 
at  any  rate — to  prevent  executing 
that  paper  in  your  pocket.'' 

"  I  don't  like  to  think  that,"  said 
Adrian  :  "  is  that  all  their  religion 
can  do  for  them  ?  " 

"  Their  religion  is  perfectly  genu- 
ine and  sincere,"  said  the  physician. 
"  But  religion  does  not  necessarily 
imply  intelligence,  however  useful  the 
two  are  to  each  other.  And  these 
women,  having  feeble  intellects  and 
enormous  selfish  instincts,  are  liable 
to  be  carried  to  any  extreme  by  an 
evil  impulse  that  pushes  them  in  the 
right  time  and  place.  Under  advice, 
possibly  on  reflection  alone,  their  case 
might  be  different.  I  used  prompt- 
ness and  sternness,  and  forestalled 
them.  Or  rather  I  helped  do  so.  But- 
ton is  the  man  who  has  effectually 
beaten  them.  Wonderful!  wonder- 
ful !  " 

The  doctor's  admiration  was  per- 
fectly just.  A  physician  is  of  small 
account  unless  he  is  a  psj^chologist ; 
and  Veroil  was  an  ardent  lover  of  his 
profession,  and  by  that  and  by  in- 
stinct also,  a  student  of  souls.  Adri- 
an was  almost  equally  fond  of  mental 
philosophy.  Knowing  the  helpless- 
ness of  the  bodiless  metaphysics  — 
that  mere  ghost  that  turns  somersets 
on  a  trapeze  in  the  clouds  —  he  had 
studied  the  physical  emplacement  of 


the  soul  as  well  as  he  could.  So  the 
two  men,  though  from  different  sides, 
were  almost  equally  enthusiastic  over 
the  marvellous  power  of  mind  which 
Mr.  Button  had  shown. 

"  See,"  said  the  admiring  doctor: 
"could  there  be  a  more  volcanic  ex- 
plosion of  that  idiotic  doctrine  that 
the  soul  is  only  a  phase  of  matter ! 
Here  the  man's  matter  is  smashed. 
For  what  I  know  he  has  a  second 
stroke  at  this  very  moment !  "  —  Ve- 
roil spoke  with  so  much  earnestness, 
and  stopped  short  on  the  sidewalk 
and  faced  round  on  Adrian  so  sudden- 
ly, that  the  young  man  actually 
thought  Mr.  Button  had  the   stroke 

—  "  at  this  very  moment,  and  the  sec- 
ond or  third  will  make  a  dead  certain- 
ty of  him  —  and  just  see  what  he 
laid  out  in  his  mind.  The  key  to  it 
all  is  a  sense  of  justice.  Nobody 
could  have  imagined  —  at  least  I 
didn't,  that  the  rough  fellow  had  so 
much  nobility  in  him.  He  has 
planned  out,  first  to  do  complete  jus- 
tice to  Civille  at  the  expense  of  his 
own  child ;  second,  to  do  complete 
justice  to  you  ;  he  must  think  very 
highly  of  your  business  abilities  and 
morals  too,  young  man,  to  give  you 
such  a  power  as  that  —  and  thirdly, 
to  do  complete  justice  to  his  own 
family  ;  for  if  they  do  what  is  right, 
they  are  to  have  the  whole  estate. 
And  consider  the  shrewdness  of  the 
means.  Those  two  women  are  as  ugly 
and  selfislyind  obstinate  and  cunning, 

—  well,  as  beasts.  So  he  fights  them 
with  their  own  natures.  The  girl 
has  stolen  and  borne  false  witness;  if 
she  confesses  it  she  will  be  rich  and 
independent ;  if  she  refuses  she  will 
be  poor,  and  wholly  dependent  upon 
her  mother,  and  the  woman  she  tried 
to  ruin  will  have  her  money.  And  if 
Mrs.  Button  does  not  succeed  in  in- 
ducing Ann  to  do  right,  she  loses  more 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


259 


than  half  her  fortune.  And  hoth  of 
them,  by  obeying  orders,  and  doing 
justice,  will  secure  their  own  wealth, 
and  will  reduce  your  authority  to  the 
minimum.  I  confess  that  I  doubt 
wl) ether  you  and  I  together  could 
rave  contrived  so  efficient  a  machine, 
^11  alive  and  well  as  we  are,  as  that 
poor  fellow  with  his  half-dead  brain  ! 
And  he  knew  that  talking  wouldn't 
do  any  good ;  so  he  wasted  no  time 
in  that ;  he  justed  the  thing.  Why, 
it  was  a  manoeuvre  as  masterly  as 
Austerlitz  or  Salamanca!  And  then 
what  a  clean  piece  of  work  !  Not 
very  technical  in  form,  but  that  in- 
strument will  stand,  I  tell  you  !  I 
know  enough  of  such  things  to  see 
that.  It's  a  very  neatly  worded  pa- 
per ! " 

"  I  only  observed  one  thing  to  add," 
said  Adrian;  "there  is  no  clear  pro- 
vision for  terminating  my  authority. 
But  I  shall  not  do  any  thing  without 
consulting  Mr.  Button,  and  his  law- 
yer too  ;  and  if  the  business  is  settled 
and  the  women  do  as  he  says,  I  can 
transfer  the  property  to  them  and  sur- 
render the  trust.  But  doctor,  one 
question :  —  How  came  Mr.  Button 
to  know  about  Civille  ?  " 

"Oh,  Ann  had  hinted  something  to 
him  on  her  side  of  the  question  ;  and 
when  he  caught  her  at  the  store,  he 
saw  the  rest  of  it  plain  enough.  He 
knew  she  was  arrested,  because  I 
told  him  this  morning." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  Ve- 
roil's  office,  where  a  company  of  pa- 
tients —  impatients,  perhaps,  they 
should  be  called  by  this  time — were 
waiting  in  the  anteroom.  In  a  few 
moments'  further  consultation  it  was 
decided  that  Adrian  should  take  no 
steps  under  his  power  of  attorney 
until  after  a  definite  reply  from  Mrs. 
Button  and  Ann.  It  was  obvious 
enough  that  he  must  proceed,  when  he 


did  so,  upon  full  consultation  with  Mr. 
Button's  own  confidential  legal  ad- 
viser; and  these  points  having  been 
agreed  on,  the  doctor  went  in  to  his 
prescriptions,  and  Adrian  hastened  to 
Mr.  Van  Braam's. 

He  found  the  old  gentleman  quite 
cheerful,  and  evidently  on  the  way  to 
a  complete  recovery.  A  full  and  ex- 
plicit conversation  with  Civille  had 
relieved  the  poor  old  gentleman  of 
the  terrors  and  pains  which  had  done 
so  much  to  throw  him  into  what  the 
doctor  called  a  typhoid  fever  ;  al- 
though he  cried  a  little  over  her  ac- 
count of  her  experience  at  the  hands 
of  the  law,  lightly  as  she  touched  it. 
Probably  his  sojourn  in  the  upper 
room  had  done  him  good,  by  the  mere 
substitution  of  a  somewhat  purer  air 
for  the  close  and  vitiated  air  of  his 
parlor.  Probably  the  opportune  de- 
linquency of  Adrian  in  respect  of  his 
duties  as  nurse  had  contributed  some- 
what to  the  convalescence.  At  the 
moment  when  Adrian  came  in,  the 
work  of  nature  was  being  assisted 
by  some  cream  toast,  cold  roast 
lamb  and  black  tea,  which  Civille 
was  ministering,  as  Miss  Katy  Bird 
had  left  them  bright  and  early  that 
morning ;  and  of  which  Adrian,  on 
invitation,  partook  with  a  fine  appe- 
tite, for  it  was  late  dinner-time. 
While  they  ate,  Adrian  supplied  his 
contribution  to  their  knowledge  of 
the  situation,  "  exchanging  wisdom 
for  refreshment,"  remarked  Mr.  Van 
Braam,  "like  the  angel  Raphael  at 
Adam  and  Eve's  lunch  in  Paradise." 

"  Giving  orations  for  rations,"  said 
Adrian. 

"  He  o'd  the  balance,"  said  Civille. 
The  two  men  reproached  her  for  fol- 
lowing their  example. 

When  Adrian,  in  his  recital,  came 
to  the  description  of  the  relics  which 
he    had  found  on   the  bed    in    Olds' 


260 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


room,  Mr.  Van  Braam,  though  struck 
with  the  intensity  of  the  situation, 
remarked  with  coolness,  "  I'm  glad  he's 
dead ;  "  and  when  in  the  progress  of 
the  story  it  turned  out  that  he  was 
not,  he  was  rather  discontented. 

Adrian  doubted  somewhat  in  his 
mind  what  to  say  about  the  scene  at 
Mr.  Button's ;  hut  on  the  whole  he 
thought  best  to  tell  it  all ;  for  he 
knew  very  well  that  he  was  talking 
to  a  safe  audience.  The  picture 
which  Adrian  described  was  a  strik- 
ing one,  for  he  possessed  a  very  fair 
talent  for  describing.  The  summary 
analysis  which  he  subjoined  of  the 
evident  object  of  Mr.  Button,  was 
even  more  effective,  and  it  prevailed 
even  over  the  ohstinate  and  constitu- 
tional dislike  of  Mr.  Van  Braam,  to 
some  extent. 

"  I  don't  like  him,"  he  said,  "  and 
I  never  shall ;  I  can't ;  and  I  won't 
stay  in  his  house  a  day  after  I  have  a 
hole  to  hide  in.  But  he  has  done  a 
just  and  manly  action.     I  like  that." 

Civille  agreed  to  the  admiration, 
and  she  added  her  love.  "  He  always 
liked  me,"  she  said  —  "I  know  it : 
I'm  so  sorry  for  him  !  I  wish  so  I 
could  make  him  well  again  !  "  But  she 
was  as  anxious  as  her  father  to  get 
away  from  the  house.  And  they 
united  in  an  absolute  and  almost 
angry  refusal  to  receive  any  portion 
whatever  of  Mr.  Button's  estate  on 
any  terms.  This,  Adrian  said,  was 
right,  but  he  reminded  them  that  the 
gift  could  only  take  effect  after  Mr. 
Button's  death  ;  that  it  was  only  a 
contingent  one,  conditioned  upon 
Ann's  obstinacy  in  disobedience  ;  and 
that  being  by  will,  it  was  revocable  at 
any  time  during  the  testator's  life,  if 
he  retained  his  mind.  Thus,  he  con- 
vinced them,  silence  for  the  present 
might  do  good  and  could  not  do 
harm. 


THs  point  thus  decided,  Civille 
and  her  father  were  the  more  anx- 
ious to  escape  from  their  present  dom- 
icile; and  the  general  question  of 
ways  and  means  was  almost  of  neces- 
sity brought  (so  to  speak)  before  the 
house. 

"  Well,  my  boy,"  said  the  old  gen- 
tleman, "  I  have  almost  always  con- 
trived to  have  a  hundred  or  two  in 
the  bank,  but  that  won't  go  far  in 
New  York ;  and  besides,  I  haven't 
got  it,  at  present.  —  We  can  sell  the 
furniture." 

"  I  can  raise  money  enough  to  last 
us  a  while,"  said  Adrian  —  "  the  old 
house  at  Hartford  is  done  for,  you 
know,  —  there'll  be  something  paid  for 
that.  Then  I  suppose  I  must  have  a 
pretty  handsome  income  from  this 
trusteeship,  unless  I  should  destroy 
the  property  "  — 

"  All  that's  none  of  my  business," 
said  Mr.  Van  Braam  with  one  sort  of 
gruffness. 

"  Won't  you  let  it  be  my  pleasure 
then  ?  "  said  Adrian  —  "  you  know 
you  would  do  so  for  my  aunt  and  me. 
Let  us  have  our  turn  first,  that's  all." 

Civille,  who  sat  near  Adrian,  qui- 
etly put  out  her  little  hand  and 
clasped  it  upon  his.  He  started,  and 
looked  at  her  with  shining  eyes. 

"  That's  different,"  replied  the  old 
man.  "  Oh,  —  it's  a  horrible  thing 
to  have  to  be  helped  ! "  And  he 
groaned  and  twisted  himself  in  the 
bed.  It  is  true  ;  it  is  frightful,  for 
a  man,  to  be  helped  instead  of  help- 
ing himself. 

"  At  any  rate,"  concluded  Adrian, 
after  considerable  discussion,  —  "  at 
any  rate,  my  dear  sir,  you  can't  go 
quite  yet ;  and  if  you  allow  me,  I'll 
look  you  up  a  place."  As  he  spoke, 
an  idea  arose  in  his  mind  which  he 
almost  uttered  on  the  spot.  It  made 
him  give  Civille's  hand  a  sudden  little 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


261 


squeeze,  which  puzzled  her,  for  she 
thought  it  meant  "  You  understand  ! " 
and  she  did  not  understand.  But  it 
meant  only  itself.  It  was  agreed 
accordingly  that  '  the  young  man 
should  try  his  luck  at  house-hunting. 

"  Besides,"  said  Mr.  Van  Braam, 
all  at  once,  hitching  the  conjunction 
however  to  a  link  some  little  ways 
back  in  the  chain  of  conversation,  — 
"  it  would  take  some  time  to  raise 
money  on  real  estate,  even  if  we 
could  give  security  for  it.  And  we 
want  some  at  once.  Bent  must  he 
paid  in  advance  in  this  city.  It  costs 
terribly  to  move,  Adrian  ;  —  I  know  I 
could  be  carried  —  at  any  rate,  to-day, 
if  I  had  a  place  to  go  to.  And  I 
don't  believe  that  we  three  have 
twenty-five  dollars  in  cash,  available 
at  this  moment." 

It  was  true.  The  habitual  indif- 
ference of  Mr.  Van  Braam  to  money 
considerations,  the  exhaustion  by  his 
illness  of  the  trifling  savings  he 
might  have  put  aside,  the  loss  of  his 
secretaryship,  left  him  almost  penni- 
less. On  Adrian's  part  the  loss  of 
his  position,  the  narrowness  of  his 
own  means,  the  amount,  considerable 
for  him,  which  he  had  been  expend- 
ing right  and  left  during  his  few 
but  sufficiently  busy  days  in  New 
York,  had  almost  emptied  his  pockets. 
As  for  Civille,  the  dear  child  had 
nothing.  "I  have  some  rich  rela- 
tions," said  the  old  gentleman,  after 
a  rather  disagreeable  pause  —  "  and 
Adrian,  I'll  tell  you  what ;  if  you'll 
undertake  to  get  them  to  do  some- 
thing for  Civille  and  me  now,  I'll  let 
you  repay  them  if  we  can't,  when  the 
time  comes.  That  would  do,  per- 
haps." 

"  Oh,  father,  you  mean  over  at 
Belleville  ?  "  said  the  young  lady. 

"  Yes.  Old  Philipp  Van  Booraem 
has   kept   his    Dutch  name   and  his 


Dutch  nature  too,  better  than  I.  I'm 
Scrope.  He's  Van  Booraem.  I 
haven't  communicated  with  him  nor 
his  wife  this  fifty  years,"  continued 
the  old  gentleman.  "  I  know  they're 
alive,  that's  all ;  and  they  are  rich." 

"Oh,  I'll  try  it,"  said  Adrian, 
cheerfully.  "  I'm  not  afraid  tc  have 
a  man  say  no  to  me,"  he  added.  "  I 
must  try  to  see  Bird  at  once,  too ; 
he's  likely  to  know  of  some  house  or 
some  real  estate  agency ;  and  by  the 
way  I  agreed  to  call  at  Purvis's 
to-day.  I'll  go  over  to  Belleville 
to-morrow  morning,  and  I'll  see  you 
as  soon  as  I  get  back." 

CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

The  ten  days  next  following  the 
day  of  Civille's  release  and  of  Mr. 
Button's  coup  d'etat,  were  to  a  cer- 
tain extent  days  of  suspense  to  Mr. 
Van  Braam  and  to  Civille.  Adrian 
returned  the  next  day  from  his  expe- 
dition to  Belleville,  and  reported  with 
the  grave  brevity  of  one  who  makes 
the  best  of  a  defeat  that  old  Mr.  Van 
Booraem  had  refused,  not  obligingly, 
to  advance  any  money  whatever. 
This  report  Mr.  Van  Braam  received 
with  much  equanimity,  saying  that  it 
was  like  the  old  gentleman.  Adrian 
went  on  to  observe  that  he  was  in 
hopes  he  had  heard  of  a  nice  place  for 
them  already,  but  that  he  must  wait 
a  while,  and  as  the  dictionary  men 
advertise,  "  get  the  best." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Van  Braam, 
"  when  you  find  a  place  you  and 
Civille  may  go  and  consult  over  it ; 
if  it  suits  you  it  will  suit  me." 

Adrian  reported  further  that  he 
had  made  an  arrangement  of  a  strict- 
ly business  nature  with  Mr.  Purvis, 
which  would  enable  him  to  provide 
for  the  expenses  of  removing  and 
re-establishing    the    household    gods 


262 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Librart 


without  any  inconvenience.  "  You 
shall  owe  it  and  pay  it,  interest  and 
all,"  he  said,  "just  as  extortionately 
as  you  like ;  you  won't  refuse  me 
that,  I  am  sure  ?  " 

This  was  all  correct  and  reason- 
able ;  but  still,  thought  Civille  — 
However,  she  did  not  quite  think  it, 
either;  it  was  one  of  those  faint, 
faint  impressions^  that  are  only  re- 
membered afterwards,  like  those  paths 
across  the  Scottish  moors  which  can 
only  be  seen  from  the  distance,  so 
imperceptibly  do  their  color  and  sur- 
face differ  from  the  rest  of  the  ex- 
panse. So  she  said  nothing,  but  with 
a  curious  serious  smile,  offered  Adrian 
an  envelope.  "  I  got  it  this  noon," 
she  said  ;  "  read  it."  He  did  so.  It 
was  the  note  from  Ann  Button.  "  I 
kept  it  to  show  you,"  said  she  ;  "  now 
I  will  burn  it." 

"  Wait,"  said  Adrian  —  "  I  don't 
know.  Burning  would  not  be  so 
good  a  plan  as  to  return  it  to  her  to 
be  destroyed.  She  would  be  certain 
then.  But  even  then,  she  might 
fancy  that  you  had  kept  a  copy. 
And  besides  —  On  the  whole,  Civille, 
it  will  be  safest  for  yourself  to  keep  it 
for  the  present."  Mr.  Van  Braam 
was  of  the  same  opinion ;  and  the 
note  was  kept. 

Apropos  of  Ann  Button's  note,  two 
other  pieces  of  information  were  forth- 
coming. Civille  told  Adrian  that  she 
had  learned  that  morning  from  Dr. 
Veroil  that  Jenks  &  Trainor  had  sent 
in  a  bill  to  Mr.  Button  "for  sundries 
supplied  at  sundry  dates,"  which  Mr. 
Button  had  ordered  paid.  And  Adrian 
told  Civille  that  he  had  met  Katy 
Bird  in  the  street  —  somewhat,  he 
added,  as  if  she  had  been  waiting  for 
him,  —  and  had  learned  from  her  that 
her  plan  of  campaign  had  been  alto- 
gether successful.  Her  idea  had  been 
suggested  to  her  by  the  shawl  of  Mrs. 


Barnes.  She  had  ascertained  from 
some  of  the  church  officers  the  names 
of  all  the  children  of  Ann's  Sunday 
School  class,  and  of  a  considerable 
number  of  the  parents  of  infants  ac- 
commodated at  the  Shadowing  Wings. 
Amongst  these  honest  folks  the  detec- 
tive lady  had  found  a  great  harvest 
of  gifts,  all  proceeding  from  Miss  Ann 
Button  ;  being  divers  sorts  of  goods 
from  Jenks  &  Trainor's,  and  some 
books,  probably  selected  on  similar 
principles  at  bookstores.  This  system 
of  gifts  Miss  Bird  had  concluded,  ex- 
plained the  circumstance  which  had 
so  thoroughly  puzzled  herself  and  her 
brother;  to  wit  that  while  a  stolen 
article  had  absolutely  been  found  in 
Civille's  possession,  not  the  least 
trace  of  any  such  thing  could  be  dis- 
covered at  Mr.  Button's,  "  though  " 
Miss  Bird  had  remarked  with  graphic 
energy  "  I  raked  every  inch  of  that 
house  from  garret  to  cellar  with  a 
fine-tooth  comb."  The  same  cunning 
which  had  served  to  escape  so  long 
the  eager  watchfulness  of  merchants 
and  police,  had  suggested  the  effec- 
tive method  of  promptly  dispersing 
all  acquisitions  among  the  obscure  and 
unsuspected  multitude  of  church  ben- 
eficiaries, whose  shiftless  habits  and 
rough  usage  would  rapidly  destroy 
them.  Thus  the  stream  of  these  un- 
sanctified  benefactions  had  been  sink- 
ing silently  into  the  desert  of  poverty, 
as  some  desert  rivers  spread  and  dis- 
appear into  the  sandy  wastes,  without 
leaving  any  mark  of  life,  unless  it  be 
the  coarse,  rank  and  worthless  sedges 
and  reeds  generated  by  the  salt  and 
barren  ground.  Had  it  not  been  for 
the  accidental  discovery  of  the  shawl 
which  Mrs.  Barnes  had  given  Civille, 
the  balance  of  evidence  would  in  a 
certain  sense  have  inclined  against 
Civille  herself.  And  as  Bird  had 
remarked    at    the    hospital,    it    was 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Lihrary. 


263 


Jenks  &  Trainor's  own  act  in  causing 
Civille's  arrest,  that  had  brought  the 
shawl  into  the  case,  and  had  at  once 
liberated  the  innocent  and  convicted 
the  guilty.  For  it  was  the  sight  of 
the  shawl,  the  knowledge  of  its  trans- 
fers, and  the  consciousness  of  so  many- 
other  existing  proofs  of  the  same 
kind,  which  had  vanquished  even  so 
obstinate  a  will,  so  limited  an  intelli- 
gence, as  those  of  Ann  Button. 
Accomplished  facts  may  tell  on  such 
minds ;  they  certainly  do  not  feel 
statements  nor  arguments  nor  be- 
seech ings.  The  fact  of  the  shawl 
not  mentioned  but  shown  —  the  fact 
of  the  disinheriting,  not  threatened 
but  executed  —  had  prevailed  to  ex- 
tort the  written  confession  from  a 
mind  obstinate  as  glass,  bending  only 
under  an  intensity  of  heat  that  would 
destroy  most  metals  into  vapor.  The 
very  distortion  or  defect  of  this  un- 
happy child  of  two  strong  parents 
was  a  union  of  their  faults ;  their 
obstinacy,  their  secretiveness,  and 
above  all  their  love  of  gain,  had  in 
their  daughter  intensified  beyond  a 
healthy  power  and  tone,  and  had  be- 
come that  species  of  silent  fury,  which 
is  called  monomania. 

Mr.  Button  continued  in  about  the 
same  state.  Adrian  consulted  fully 
with  his  lawyer,  a  dusty-looking  and 
dried  up  person,  who  shook  his  head 
a  good  deal  over  the  power  of  attor- 
ney, complaining  particularly  of  the 
unlimited  trust  it  conferred,  and  of 
its  duplicate  nature  as  power  and  as 
will.  But  after  having  himself  seen 
Mr.  Button,  and  also  the  doctor;  and 
after  being  a  good  deal  consoled  by 
Adrian's  request  that  he  should  super- 
vise all  transactions  under  the  power, 
and  should  charge  accordingly,  that 
it  would  be  safe  for  Adrian  to  execute 
his  trust  so  far  at  least  as  related  to 
the  publishing  business  ;  that  is,  to 
exercise  a  general  supervision  over  it, 


and  to  dispose  of  it  in  case  of  a  good 
opportunity.  The  nomination  to  Con- 
gress was  of  necessity  made  over 
again,  "the  candidate,  our  well  known, 
popular  and  energetic  fellow-citizen, 
T.  Button  Esq.,  having  been  obliged  " 
—  as  the  papers  delicately  observed, 
"  in  consequence  of  a  somewhat  seri- 
ous illness,  to  withdraw  his  acceptance. 
All  parties  and  persons,"  the  paper 
added,  "join  in  hoping  for  a  gen- 
tleman so  useful  and  public-spirit- 
ed, a  speedy  and  complete  recovery." 
And  thus  the  political  career  of  the 
publisher  died  before  it  was  born. 


Upon  the  morning  of  the  tenth 
day,  came  Adrian  to  say  that  at 
last  he  thought  he  had  found  exactly 
the  place ;  and  would  Civille  be 
pleased  to  go  and  inspect  it? 

Yes,  she  would.  She  was  quickly 
ready,  and  the  young  man  escorted 
her  to  one  of  those  neighborhoods 
which  are  as  if  somebody  had  planted 
a  few  clean  streets  for  a  specimen  in 
the  middle  of  the  careless  dirt  of  New 
York.  It  was  on  the  "west  side," 
so  called,  pretty  well  up  town.  As 
they  went,  Adrian  began  to  entertain 
Civille  with  a  few  conundrums  and 
other  nonsenses,  and  was  merry 
before  her,  insomuch  that  the  young 
lady  inquired  what  he  had  had  for 
breakfast,  and  recited  to  him  with  a 
grave  smile, 

"  Woe  to  that  land  whose  princes 
are  drunk  in  the  morning/' 

"  Wrong,  oh  princess,"  said  he 
with  glee.  "  There's  no  such  saying. 
There's  a  verse  in  Ecclesiastes,  'Woe 
to  thee,  0  land,  when  thy  king  is  a 
child,  and  thy  princes  eat  in  the 
morning.'  This  would  seem  to  show 
that  in  Palestine  under  the  Mosaic 
dispensation  breakfast  was  an  immo- 
rality. But  as  the  poet  observes,  a 
better  lot  has  been  planned  for  me. 


264 


Scrope  ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


Coffee  is  a  glory  and  a  beauty  that 
not  even  the  Preacher  ever  dreamed 
of;  and  so  is  a  good  United  States 
breakfast,  oh  princess.  But  Civille, 
why  are  you  so  sober  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  exactly,"  said  she  ; 
"  I  don't  like  to  go  away  from  that 
solitary  old  house,  and  yet  I  know  I 
shall  be  glad  when  I  have  got   away. 

—  I  guess  it  must  be  the  mere  fact 
of  the  change.  Besides,  you  know  I 
am  a  serious  person." 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  Adrian,  "you 
are.  But  yet  I  always  have  an  idea 
that  you  are  conscious  of  the  funny 
side  of  things,  under  your  grave  face. 
I  am  very  often  perfectly  conscious  of 
the  serious  side  of  things  when  I  am 
perhaps  making  fun  about  them  out- 
side." 

"  Then,  Mr.  Button's  illness,  and 
his  family  —  I'm  so  sorry  for  them  !  " 

"  Why,  so  am  I,"  said  Adrian ; 
"that  is,  I  would  do  any  thing  I 
could  —  conveniently  —  to  help  them 

—  not  so  much  as  you,  Civille,  for  I'm 
not  so  good  ;  but  still,  a  little.  But 
all  the  same,  I  can't  see  why  I 
should  be  unhappy  over  them  myself. 
If  I  should  do  a  little  bit  of  misery 
over  every  misfortune,  I  should  go  hang 
in  a  week.  It's  not  because  I'm  in- 
sensible, Civille ;  it's  because  I'm  so 
uncommonly  delicate  and  sympa- 
thetic, and  I  have  to  guard  myself 
against  it." 

She  looked  at  him  in  her  grave 
sweet  way,  with  her  peculiar  intro- 
verted expression,  and  said,  as  if  she 
were  reflecting,  rather  than  speaking, 

"You  think  you  are  joking,  but  it 
is  more  like  the  truth,  Adrian." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  want  to 
cry  this  forenoon,  any  way.  I  sha'n't 
do  that  unless  you  dislike  the  house, 
Civille." 

"  I  guess  I  shall  like  it,  Adrian," 
she  said;  "I  almost  always  like  what 
you  do." 


"  Then,  dear,  please  to  promise  to 
like  all  that  you  find  out  to-day  I  have 
done,  and  all  I  do  to-day  too  —  will 
you  ?  " 

The  tone,  light  as  he  tried  to  make 
it,  was  shaded  with  earnestness ;  if 
he  had  quite  succeeded,  she  might 
perhaps  have  promised;  but  with  a 
feeling  not  of  doubt,  not  amounting 
to  shyness  —  an  undefined  hesitation, 
she  looked  up  at  him  —  saw  some- 
thing a  little  eager  and  anxious  in  his 
eyes,  and  looked  down  again,  silent. 
They  walked  on,  chatting  as  before, 
but  with  a  little  less  frivolity  on  the 
young  man's  part.  As  they  ap- 
proached the  place,  Adrian  explained 
that  it  was  the  second  floor  of  one  of 
those  houses  built  in  separate  tene- 
ments, of  late  years  becoming  so  com- 
mon in  New  York  ;  and  that  he  was 
afraid  she  would  find  the  rooms  very 
scanty  and  cramped  after  their  whole 
house. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind,"  said  she  — 
"  you  know  we  don't  give  many  very 
large  dancing-parties!" 

The  house  was  of  brick,  and  looked 
new  and  clean.  It  was  on  a  corner, 
and  the  entrance  was  on  the  side 
street,  on  the  north  side. 

"  The  windows  look  south,  east  and 
west,"  said  Adrian.  "The  flats  lie 
cross-ways,  through  and  through  the 
block,  and  the  party-wall  naturally 
shuts  in  the  north  side  of  all  the 
rooms."  He  opened  the  outer  door 
with  a  pass-key,  and  showed  her  up- 
stairs. The  tenement  was  soon  in- 
spected ;  it  was  perfectly  clean  and 
new,  none  of  the  floors  in  that  house 
having  in  fact  been  occupied  at  all, 
Adrian  said,  except  the  fourth  or  up- 
permost. There  was  a  parlor,  with  a 
little  bedroom  off  it ;  three  other 
rooms  ;  and  a  cosy  little  kitchen.  All 
these,  by  ingenious  management, 
were  lighted  from  the  outside  air; 
the  closets  and  store-rooms  being  ar- 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


205 


ranged  to  occupy  the  darkest  part. 
"  All  the  modern  improvements  "  were 
provided ;  gas,  water,  a  snug  bath- 
room even. 

Civille,  as  they  went  from  one  room 
to  another,  expressed  a  reasonable  de- 
gree of  satisfaction.  "  You  don't  like 
it  quite  well  enough  to  suit  me,"  said 
Adrian.  "  Bare  walls  and  floors 
always  look  dreary  ;  it  is  like  trying 
to  tell  by  a  skeleton  whether  it  be- 
longed to  a  handsome  person.  I 
knew  that  would  be  so,  and  I  hap- 
pened to  find  out  that  the  people  in 
the  floor  above  have  just  got  it  fitted 
up  and  are  to  move  in  to-morrow,  and 
so  I  got  the  agent  to  get  me  leave  to 
go  in  there  this  morning.  We'll  go 
up  and  see  how  the  rooms  look  fur- 
nished." 

They  went  up  accordingly,  and  be- 
ginning at  the  kitchen,  examined  the 
whole,  in  the  reverse  order  from  the 
floor  below.  The  clean  stove,  the 
new  tables,  a  good  ingrain  carpet, 
pantry  and  dish  closets  well  fur- 
nished, gave  the  kitchen  a  look  of 
comfort.  There  were  beds  in  the 
bed-rooms  ;  floors  were  carpeted  and 
windows  were  curtained;  the  dra- 
peries and  furniture  were  not  new, 
but  were  in  that  comely,  comfortable, 
tamed  condition,  that  tells  of  skilful 
and  careful  use. 

"  It  is  almost  as  if  I  had  been  vis- 
iting here  before,"  said  Civille;  "it 
wouldn't  surprise  me  to  have  the 
lady  of  the  house  open  the  parlor 
door  and  ask  me  how  I  did." 

They  came  to  the  little  parlor  that 
overlooked  the  avenue. 

"  Oh,  what  a  delightful  room  ! " 
said  Civille.  It  was  carpeted  with  a 
Brussels  carpet,  mostly  in  cool  gray, 
with  some  green,  and  a  few  lit- 
tle sprigs  of  clear  red  and  spots  of 
warm  brown.  The  walls  were  in  a 
paper  of  similar  tone ;  plain  dark 
shades,    with   neat  lace  curtains  be- 


hind them,  were  at  tie  windows. 
There  was  a  fire  in  the  stove,  and 
the  room  was  summery  and  pleasant. 
A  book-case  rather  too  large  for  the 
room  crossed  one  end  of  it,  and  there 
was  a  piano  and  a  little  sofa.  The 
tables  and  some  of  the  chairs  were 
noticeable;  they  were  very  old  solid 
mahogany  or  cherry,  almost  black, 
and  the  backs  of  the  chairs  were 
pierced  and  carved  in  elaborate  grace- 
ful designs.  Some  modern  ones  of  a 
more  luxurious  if  less  majestic  char- 
acter, were  however  interspersed. 

"  Sit  down  and  rest  you  a  little, 
Civille,"  said  Adrian  ;  and  he  led  her 
to  the  sofa.  —  "  Well  ?  " 

She  looked  all  around  the  room  : 
"  How  pleasant  it  is  !  "  she  said. 

"Will  the  rooms  down  stairs  do, 
then,  when  they  are  furnished,  do  you 
think  ?  "  said  he,  with  some  anxiety. 

"  Why,  it's  lovely,  Adrian,  —  they 
will  be  lovely,"  said  Civille,  and  she 
blushed  with  pleasure,  and  the  tears 
stood  in  her  eyes.  "  It's  just  perfect. 
Every  thing's  so  snug  and  nice !  I 
half  grudge  to  have  the  people  come." 

"  They  won't  until  afternoon,"  said 
the  young  man,  well  pleased.  "  Now 
you  can  tell  how  differently  it  will 
look  down  stairs  when  you  get  all 
your  things  in  there.  —  Then  you  are 
sure  it  will  do  ?  " 

"Indeed  I  am,  Adrian.  Why?" 

"Why,  the  fact  is,  —  I've  hired  it. 
You  see,  the  agent  wouldn't  give  me 
much  of  a  refusal,  and  I  consulted  my 
judgment  and  decided  to  run  the 
risk.  But  it's  a  great  relief —  though 
I  felt  pretty  sure.  —  I'm  going  to  try 
the  piano,  —  if  they've  only  been  'sen- 
sible enough  to  leave  it  unlocked." 

They  had;  and  he  sat  down  and 
struck  a  few  notes.  It  was  not  a  pow- 
erful instrument,  but  full  and  sweet- 
toned.     He  played  a  waltz  or  two. 

"  Sing,"  said  Civille ;  and  Adrian 
sang  her  "Bessie." 


266 


Scrope  ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 
BESSIE. 


-fi-o— 


=£ 


wears        a    gown       of    red ;       A  home  -  spun     gown, 


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™=^ffl=5ffir±t 


Bldzpzt^Dctz^t: — ^  :rp= — s~  rp SE   * «? — :  -1— 


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wee     brown  feet      are  without         a     shoe.  Bes  -  sie's      hair         is  like 


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sun  -  set's  gold,      And  her  eyes      are  born      of  the  deep      blue        sea. 


^^^^J^^^^r^ 


i&ESEEi 


^-*- 


JScrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


267 


mm 


BESSIE— Concluded. 


=*3 


In       their  depths     is     a     sto 


V— V- 


ry      told- 


^ 


>-J 


S 


love  Bes  -    sie,  and 


§;sa 


fct 


i=?Et-*-,- 


Rallent. 


she     loves     me, 


s=g 


[H- 


love  Bessie,  and     she    loves    me, 

:3EEEEEEE 


i 


31 


9iffi 


eSe£eEEE=W- 


]] 


Bessie's  hands  are  hard  with  toil, 

And  her  cheeks  are  dark  with  the  wind 
and  rain ; 
But  her  lips  are  rich  with  the  rosy  spoil 

That  if  once  I  taste  I  must  taste  again. 
Bessie  has  never  a  silken  gown, 

Nor  a  crimson  hat,  nor  a  necklace  fine; 
But  she  wears  of  cowslips  a  golden  crown 

That  I'd  rather  than  any  queen's  were 
mine. 

"  Ah,  it's  good,"  said  Civille. 

"  But  is  it  true,  Bessie  ? "  asked 
Adrian. 

"  Love  is  always  true,"  said  she. 
—  "I  wonder  what  old  box  that  is, 
Adrian  ?  And  where's  the  clock  that 
I've  heard  ticking  ever  since  we  came 
in  ?  " 

She  had  been  studying  the  room 
and  its  appointments  with  a  sort  of 
pre-occupation  ever  since  she  came 
in  ;  walking  round  to  chair  and  table 
and  stopping  to  inspect  and  as  if  to 
dream,  or  rather  as  if  each  of  the 
wooden  antiquities  in  its  turn  whis- 


Bessie's  step  is  light  like  the  fawn's, 

And  her  voice  like  the  chiming  of  silver 
hells. 
I  hear  it  oft  in  the  summer  morns, 

But.  I  dare  not  whisper  what  it  tells, 
Lingering  and  dying  around  my  heart, 

Ever  and  ever,  its  echoes  he. 
Who  shall  divide  us,  or  what  shall  part  ? 

I  love  Bessie,  and  she  loves  me.1 


pered  to  her  a  profound  secret.  Once 
or  twice  she  jumped  up  from  the  sofa 
to  go  and  look  at  the  old-fashioned 
mirror  over  the  mantle-piece,  —  a 
noble  plate  of  heavy  old  French  glass, 
—  or  at  a  picture  or  two  on  the  wall. 
"  Oh,  some  old  family  chest  or 
other,"  said  Adrian,  smiling ;  "what 
makes  you  so  uneasy  ?  You  hop  like 
a  hen  on  a  hot  griddle." 


i  These  pretty  and  musical  words  appeared 
almost  twenty  years  ago  in  Putnam's  Monthly. 
If  the  author's  name  was  forthcoming  it  would 
he  acknowledged ;  and  if  there  is  any  wrong  in 
repeating  three  stanzas  of  them  here,  pardon  is 
asked,  and  on  notice  right  will  be  done. 


268 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


"I  don't  know,"  she  said;  "it's 
like  those  sudden  sensations  the  books 
tell  of,  that  flit  across  your  mind  with 
a  feeling  that  it  has  all  happened 
once  already.  —  It  hasn't.  —  I  didn't 
know  the  house  was  here." 

"  Oh,"  said  Adrian,  "  it's  prophetic  ; 
it's  because  you're  going  to  be  here 
again  —  in  the  house  I  mean ;  "  Com- 
ing events  cast  their  shadows  before." 

"  It's  so  queer  to  leave  that  old 
thing  in  this  pretty  room  !  "  said  she, 
—  and  yet  it's  a  nice  old  chest !  "  — 

"  The  draymen  might  have  left  it 
by  mistake,"  said  Adrian ;  "  they 
couldn't  help  making  some  blunder 
or  other." 

But  Civille  arose  and  stepped 
toward  the  chest ;  stopped  short  and 
turned  toward  the  side  of  the  room : 

"  There  !  "  she  cried,  —  "I  knew  it 
was  one  of  those  old  hall  clocks  !  Why, 
you  old  beauty  !  "  And  she  clapped 
her  hands,  applauding.  Well  she 
might.  Behind  the  door,  so  that  she 
had  not  seen  it,  was  one  of  those 
ancient  columnar  clocks  whose  stately 
heavy  deliberate  beat  seems  to  tell 
only  patriarchal  time.  The  hurried 
"fussy  tick  of  the  petty  clock  of  to- 
day is  a  suitable  memento  of  our  over- 
driven state.  "  Everysecondeverysec- 
ondeverysecond !  "  chatters  the  tor- 
menting thing.  But  the  calm  old 
hall  clock  quietly  says,    "  An,  hour  ; 

AN,  HOUR  ;    AN,  HOUR." 

This  clock-case  was  a  wonder.  It 
was  of  a  polished  fine-grained  red 
wood,  apparently  one  of  the.  rare  dense 
African  sorts ;  and  was  inlaid 
throughout  with  many  curling  abun- 
dant wreaths  of  leaves  and  flowers  in 
a  wood  of  very  white  color  and  close 
satiny  surface.  These  wreaths  trailed 
and  waved  in  sweet  easy  curves  all 
over  the  panels,  and  around  the  fan- 
ciful inlaid  arabesques  that  centred 
each  panel.     Elaborately  ornamented 


slender  columns  finished  the  edges  of 
the  case;  delicate  little  carved  rails 
and  pinnacles,  fine  and  graceful  as 
old  lace,  set  off  the  ledge  below  the 
face,  and  the  edges  and  summit  of  the 
gabled  top.  The  bright  silvered  face 
told  hours,  minutes  and  seconds,  and 
a  mysterious  opening  further  dis- 
played the  days  of  the  week  and  of 
the  month. 

Civille  looked  over  to  Adrian  with 
a  puzzled  air;  "It's  so  long  since  I 
was  in  Hartford,"  she  said,  —  "  but  I 
thought  your  aunt  had  a  clock  like 
this." 

«  She  did,"  said  Adrian,  —  "  but  it 
was  not  quite  so  old  as  this  one  is." 

Civille  turned  about,  stepped  back 
to  the  old  chest,  which  stood  just  in 
front  of  the  book-case,  and  knelt 
down  to  look  at  it.  She  sprang  up 
instantly  and  cried  out, 

"  Adrian  Chester,  what  does  it 
mean  ?  This  is  the  Scrope  Chest  ! 
See  there  !  "  And  sure  enough  she 
pointed  to  the  elaborately  floriated  old 
English  letters  of  the  word  "  Scroope  " 
and  the  familiar  old  arms,  carved  on 
the  front.  She  tried  the  lid,  but  it 
was  locked. 

She  rose  and  came  back  towards 
him,  flushed,  perplexed,  the  great 
gray  eyes  shining,  the  white  teeth 
just  glancing  through  the  parted  red 
lips. 

"  Sit  down  again,  Civille,"  said 
Adrian;  "I'll  'fess.'  Yes,  it  is  the 
Scrope  Chest.  The  things  are  ours  ; 
that  is  what  puzzled  you  so ;  that  is 
our  clock  ;  it  wasn't  as  old  when  you 
saw  it  as  it  is  now.  — I  could  hardly 
keep  my  face  straight  to  see  you  go 
dreaming  round  and  asking  questions 
of  every  old  chair.  I  was  waiting  to 
have  you  remember." 

"  Why,  I  never  saw  them  but  once, 
and  then  I  was  a  little  bit  of  a  girl. 
But  — tell  me?" 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


269 


"  The  rooms  are  ours,"  said  Adrian. 
"  So  you  see  I  ran  a  double  risk  in 
hiring  those  below  for  you.  Come  — 
sit  down."  So  he  seated  her  again 
at  his  side  on  the  sofa. 

"  I  knew  there  was  something  fa- 
miliar the  instant  I  came  into  this 
room,"  said  she.  —  "  You  secret 
man  !  " 

"  Family  failing,"  said  Adrian. 
"  Do  you  tell  all  that  is  in  your  heart, 
Civille  ?  " 

She  smiled.  "Come;  tell  me," 
said  she ;  "  What  a  vision  it  is !  " 
And  she  gazed  all  about  the  room 
again  with  affectionate  delight. 

"Well,"  began  Adrian;  "The 
chief  idea  of  all  came  into  my  head 
while  I  was  arranging  with  you  and 
your  father  to  find  you  a  house.  I 
mean  the  idea  of  having  my  aunt 
come  here.  Apparently  I  shall  have 
to  stay  in  New  York  for  a  while,  and 
the  old  house  in  Hartford  has  got  to 
go  ;  so  I  wrote  that  very  day  to  tell 
aunty  all  about  it,  and  I  exhorted  her 
to  have  every  thing  packed  and  sent 
here  that  we  wanted  to  keep,  and  to 
have  every  thing  else  sold,  and  to 
come.  Isn't  she  a  splendid  old  lady? 
She  did  it,  and  she's  here  —  stopped 
with  an  old  friend  of  hers  in  Brook- 
lyn until  we  could  get  in  some  sup- 
plies, and  she  and  I  will  sleep  here 
to-night. 

"  When  I  had  posted  that  letter, 
next  I  went  to  see  Purvis ;  he 
had  asked  me  the  day  before  to  come, 
you  know.  He  ^aid  there  was  a  li- 
brarian wanted,  for  a  new  library, 
here  in  New  York,  just  begun;  one 
of  the  reference  kind,  where  steady 
attendance  is  required,  and  gentle- 
manly manners  ;  and  he  was  so  good 
as  to  say  he  thought  I  should  do.  So 
I  thanked  him,  and  explained  my  sit- 
uation, and  said,  Can't  it  be  had  for 
my  old  friend  and  relative  Mr.  Van 


Braam?  So  he  said  perhaps  yes,  but 
he  didn't  know  him,  and  could  we 
give  any  references  ?  I  thought  a 
while,  and  mentioned  Mr.  Stanley. 
Purvis  said  that  would  do,  if  Stanley 
would  write  one  ;  for,  you  know,  Stan- 
ley is  very  famous  in  a  whole  world 
of  about  two  dozen  antiquarians  and 
book  collectors,  and  the  man  who  is 
founding  this  library  is  one  of  that 
kind.  Stanley  was  to  be  in  New 
York  in  a  few  days,  Purvis  said,  and 
he  would  see  what  could  be  done.  I 
don't  doubt  we  shall  arrange  it,  nor 
does  he.  Then  I  went  over  to  Belle- 
ville. Oh,  Civille,  they've  got  such  a 
pearl  of  an  old  Dutch  palace  there ! 
a  great  square  stone  mansion  down 
by  the  river,  all  hidden  in  old  trees, 
and  so  stately !  And  they  are  deli- 
cious old  people.  The  old  gentleman 
is  a  great  big  heavy  old  fellow,  more 
than  six  feet  high,  with  a  broad  fat 
face  and  two  light  greenish  eyes  that 
positively  project  beyond  his  face ; 
the  only  real  boiled-onion  eyes  I  ever 
saw.  And  his  wife,  a  perfectly  won- 
derful person,  ancient  and  prim  be- 
yond all  description,  and  with  a  pro- 
digious lace  cap.  They  were  very 
courteous  and  magnificent,  and  or- 
dered in  cake  and  wine  in  a  delight- 
ful old  fashioned  way,  and.  I  bowed 
and  drank  a  solemn  health  to  Mrs. 
Van  Booraem,  which  they  approved. 
I  opened  the  business  as  delicately 
as  I  could,  and  they  heard  me  grave- 
ly through.  Then  the  old  gentleman 
proceeded  to  answer  on  hereditary 
principles,  as  it  might  have  been  dur- 
ing some  unfriendly  negotiations  be- 
tween the  authorities  of  New  Ams- 
terdam and  the  Colony  on  the  Great 
Biver.  His  kinsman,  he  said,  had 
married  into  some  Connecticut  family 
—  please  to  remember,  Civille,  this 
ill-assorted  marriage  was  that  of  your 
great-great-great-grandfather !  —  had 


270 


jScrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


married  into  a  Connecticut  family; 
and  as  he  had  made  his  bed,  so  he 
must  lie  in  it.  And  he  declined  pos- 
itively to  advance  any  money  either 
hy  way  of  loan  or  gift,  either  with 
security  or  without. 

"So  I  had  to  fall  hack  on  my 
friend  Purvis  and  myself.  I  have 
made  all  the  arrangements,  Civille, 
that  I  could ;  Mrs.  Barnes  is  going  to 
do  our  work  for  us  ;  she  will  do  3rours 
too  if  you  like ;  she  says  she  would 
rather  work  for  you,  Civille,  for  noth- 
ing and  find  herself,  —  and  you  too, 
she  said  —  than  to  get  double  wages 
anywhere  else.     May  she  ?  " 

Civille  looked  at  Adrian  ;  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  hut  with  a  quiet 
look  of  gladness,  very  serious,  very 
deep,  very  sweet. 

"  But,  Civille,  so  would  I.  —  May 
I?" 


—  "  Love,"  said  Adrian,  interrupt- 
ing himself,  "  why  did  you  never  write 
me  all  those  reasons  you  promised  for 
refusing  me  ?  Tell  me  what  they 
were." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  she,  reflec- 
tively, always  with  her  penetrating 
steady  serious  gaze,  as  if  it  was  the 
soul  only  she  spoke  to,  and  with  that 
introverted  manner,  as  if  her  utter- 
ances were  half  unconscious,  —  "I 
don't  know.  I  guess  I  didn't  want 
to.     But  I  meant  to." 

"  Well ;  what  were  they  ?  " 

She  hlushed,  very  deeply ;  "  Per- 
haps I  had  not  quite  escaped  from 
some  influences  of  —  of  the  Solidari- 
te  people.  And  I  didn't  know  —  I 
mean  I  could  not  leave  father.  And 
I  was  afraid  —  Adrian,  perhaps  it 
was  silly,  hut  I  have  not  been  very 
strong  the  last  year  or  two,  while  we 
have  been  in  that  old  house  —  I  was 
afraid  I  should   always   be  sick.  —  I 


don't  like  sick  women.  —  And  I 
didn't  know  how  much — }rou  must 
guess  it,  Adrian,"  she  whispered. 

"  Yes,  dear.  —  You  are  myself.  — 
Now,  Civille  ;  do  you  remember  about 
the  things  you  told  me  at  Mrs.  Bab- 
bles's  room  that  night?  —  I  think 
you  just  reflected  back  to  me  the 
thoughts  in  my  mind.  Do  you  re- 
member? There  were  four  things; 
and  what  you  said  was  my  own  mean- 
ing. Only,  I  did  not  know  it  so  dis- 
tinctly then  as  I  did  afterwards  when 
the  time  came  for  the  things  to  hap- 
pen. I  asked  you  —  though  it  was 
in  a  roundabout  way,  —  these  four 
questions :  Whether  I  should  accept 
the  offer  that  Mr.  Button  had  made 
me  ;  whether  the  Scrope  Estate  would 
he  recovered ;  whether  I  should  marry 
Ann  ;  and  whether  it  was  you  or  she 
who  had  been  stealing.  So  you  an- 
swerd  to  the  four:  No;  no;  no;  she. 
It  was  as  if  those  four  judgments 
were  four  buds  in  my  mind,  and  you 
could  see  them  before  they  were  open  ; 
I  had  to  wait  for  the  blossoms." 

She  mused  a  little  ;  "  Very  likely," 
she  said,  simply.  "  I  don't  under- 
stand it.  But  if  I  am  yourself, 
that's  the  reason.  I  don't  think  I 
feel  quite  so  wise,  since  I've  been 
away  from  all  those  philosophers.  I 
don't  care,  though.  You  may  see  all 
my  thoughts,  dear,  if  you  want  to ; 
but  if  I  have  to  be  asleep  before  I 
can  see  yours,  you'll  tell  me  after- 
wards ?  " 

He  promised. 

"  But,"  she  resumed,  "  what  made 
you  think  of  that  evening  just  now  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  was  my  meditating 
over  those  questions  and  answers  that 
gave  me  the  habitual  feeling  that  we 
are  the  same  person,"  said  he. 

•'You  said  that  just  like  me,"  an- 
swered Civille.  "  But  how  fortunate 
that  I  did  not  write  you  all  my  wise 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


271 


reasons.  If  I  had,"  she  said,  laying 
her  two  hands  in  his,  and  looking  at 
hi  in  with  a  lovely  perfect  trust,  "  if  I 
had,  think  of  all  the  revenges  you 
would  have  wreaked  on  us  —  by  let- 
ting us  alone." 

"  Oh,  certainly  !  "  said  he  ;  "  but 
only  think  how  such  a  sentence  would 
look  if  you  wrote  it !  I  think  I  like 
it  though,  when  you  give  me  an  inter- 
linear translation  with  your  eyes  and 
your  hands,  Civille." 


—  "  Don't,  please  — that's  enough," 
said  she. 

—  "I  was  punctuating  the  transla- 
tion," said  Adrian. 

—  There  was  a  peremptory  rap  at 
the  door.  The  young  people  gave  a 
great  jump,  but  before  Adrian  could 
open  it,  Miss  Chester  entered. 

"  Where  are  your  ears  ?  "  said  the 
old  lady,  sharply.  —  "  Civille,  my  dear, 
kiss  me.  How  you  have  grown  ! 
How  nice  and  rosy  you  are  !  What's 
the  matter?  I  knocked  twice,  and 
then  pounded,  before  I  came  in.  Am 
I  late  enough  ?     Was  I  discreet  ?  " 

"  Yes,  aunty,"  said  Adrian  ;  "  All 
the  arrangements  are  approved." 

"Very  good,"  said  Miss  Chester, 
whose  remarks  might  imply  some 
previous  understanding  with  Adrian, 
unless  indeed  they  implied  a  won- 
drous present  insight.  "She  would 
have  been  a  silly  thing  not  to  approve 
-them  all.  You  are  good  enough  for 
anybody." 

"  It's  well  she  isn't  a  Hartford 
girl,"  said  Adrian  ;  "  you  know  they 
always  say  there  '  He  isn't  half  good 
enough  for  her.'  " 

"  Every  man  is  a  fool  that  doesn't 
marry,"  answered  Miss  Chester,  sen- 
tentiously ;  "  and  every  woman's  a 
fool  that  does." 

"  So  you  are  willing  to  have  a  fool 
in  the  family  ?  "  asked  Civille. 


"  We  shall  hardly  make  it  out  this 
time,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  lady, 
kissing  her. 

"  Well,"  said  Civille,  "  I  must  go 
back  to  father. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

"My  wedding  gift  to  you,  father," 
said  Adrian,  and  he  held  out  to  Mr. 
Van  Braam  an  old  fashioned  key,  with 
intricate  wards,  a  steel  barrel,  and  hav- 
ing, in  place  of  the  modern  ring,  a 
handle  curiously  and  elegantly  worked 
in  brass. 

"But  isn't  it  a  barbarian  custom, 
my  boy,  to  buy  one's  wife  ?  " 

"  Oh,  this  is  only  a  civilized  memo- 
rial of  it,  just  as  shaking  hands  is 
what  remains  of  the  ancient  surety 
of  disarming.  It  is  not  an  equivalent ; 
it's  a  compliment." 

The  key  was  that  of  the  Scrope 
Chest.  The  chest  itself  had  that  day 
been  brought  down  from  the  floor 
above,  and  was  placed  on  two  chairs 
before  Mr.  Van  Braam's  easy  chair,  in 
his  new  quarters.  He  had  some  days 
before  been  moved  over  from  the  old 
home,  having  recovered  sufficiently, 
and  the  two  little  households  had  .in 
the  most  natural  manner  in  the  world 
been  fused  into  one  joint  and  sev- 
eral family.  They  ate  together  at 
most  meals,  and  sat  together  most 
evenings  ;  but  each  of  the  four  could 
be  alone  at  will.  Enforced  society  is 
next  in  discomfort  to  enforced  solitude 
—  next  either  way,  according  to  the 
tastes  of  sufferers. 

This  evening  they  were  together; 
Adrian  and  Civille  were  to  be  mar- 
ried next  day.  The  few  and  simple 
arrangements  and  formalities  had  been 
provided  for.  Civille,  Miss  Chester 
and  Adrian  sat  by.  The  old  gentle- 
man took  the  key. 

"  What  is  it,  Adrian  ?  " 


272 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


"Open  it,  father,  open  it,"  said 
Civille :  "  we  all  know  except  you. 
Adrian  didn't  mean  to  tell  me,  and 
he  did  not  at  first ;  but  — he  says  — 
he  couldn't  help  it.  It's  something 
you'll  like." 

Mr.  Van  Braam  looked  at  the  three 
happy  faces,  and  with  a  funny  affecta- 
tion of  excitement,  he  unlocked  the 
Scrope  Chest  and  threw  hack  the 
oaken  lid. 

"  Books,  hey  ?  "  he  said.  Then  he 
looked  suddenly  at  Adrian ;  his  pale 
face  flashed  quickly  :  — 

"Is  it  — is  it"  — 

"Yes,  father,"  said  Adrian  :  "it  is 
the  Lost  Library.  Not  over  thirty 
volumes;  but  look  at  them." 

The  affectation  of  excitement  gave 
way  to  a  real  one.  The  old  man's 
hands  trembled  so  that  he  could  not 
hold  any  thing.  Adrian  lifted  out 
the  largest  volume,  a  good-sized  folio, 
bound  in  rough  looking  blackened 
leather,  and  opening  it  to  the  title- 
page,  laid  it  in  Mr.  Van  Braam's  lap, 
so  as  to  lean  against  the  chest. 

"  Sixteen  hundred  and  twenty- 
three,"  said  the  old  gentleman. 
"Printed  by  Isaac  Jaggard  and 
Ed  Blount!  What  business  had 
Adrian  Scroope  with  Shakspeare  ? 
The  First  Folio  !  Why,  Adrian  !  —  is 
that  what  you  call  only  a  compli- 
ment?" 

"But  look  at  them  all,"  said 
Adrian  ;  "  See,"  —  and  he  took  up 
another  black-looking  old  thing,  a 
small  thick  quarto,  and  opened  that. 
"  Mamusse  Wunneetupanatamwe  up- 
Biblum  God,"  he  read,  — "  Eliot's 
Indian  Bible,  first  edition  !  " 

"  I  won't  look,  I  won't  hear,  I 
won't  have  a  thing,  you  sha'n't  have 
Civille,  if  you  don't  tell  me  this  in- 
stant, how  you  got  them,  Adrian  !  " 
said  Mr.  Van  Braam,  desperately. 

So  Adrian,   recapitulating  the   ac- 


count he  had  given  Civille  of  old 
Philipp  Van  Booraem's  refusal,  went 
on  with  a  chapter  which  he  had 
omitted  on  the  morning  when  Civille 
had  recognized  the  chest : 

"  Mr.  Van  Booraem  refused  in  the 
point-blankest  manner.  When  he  was 
through,  the  old  lady  said  the  family 
had  had  a  similar  experience  before. 
'  You  remember,  Philipp,'  she  said  to 
her  husband,  '  that  that  very  Philipp 
who  married  the  Hartford  person,  bor- 
rowed some  money  of  your  great- 
grandfather? There  was  some  secu- 
rity—  an  old  box  of  goods,  I  believe. 
That  is  up  in  the  store-room  now. 
Suppose  we  return  this  to  our  kins- 
man ?  If  it  was  good  for  money  then, 
it  is  good  for  money  now.'  '  My  dear,' 
said  the  old  gentleman  solemnly, 
'  a  just  thought.  We  will  do  so.' 
Then  they  sent  up-stairs,  and  finally 
went  themselves;  and  had  a  long 
hunt  and  at  last  dug  out  an  old  red 
cedar  chest  all  locked  and  marked 
'  Philipp  Van  Booraem,  1698,'  which 
they  formally  made  over  to  me.  1 
accepted  it  with  equal  formality,  and 
got  it  over  here  as  fast  as  I  could 
without  opening  it,  for  I  had  a  pre- 
sentiment ;  and  I  did  not  choose  to  let 
them  see  what  the  contents  were,  if 
I  should  be  right.  And  I  found  the 
books,  and  put  them  in  here ;  and  you 
are  as  welcome  to  them  as  the  roses 
are  welcome  in  June." 

"And  now  will  you  look  at  your 
Shakspeare  ?  "  asked  Adrian,  as  he 
took  out  a  pocket  rule ;  "  The  cele- 
brated Scrope  Shakspeare  of  the  fu- 
ture. There  isn't  such  a  copy  in  the 
country !  There  isn't  a  leaf  missing 
nor  imperfect,  nor  a  repaired  leaf  in 
it ;  it's  a  tenth  of  an  inch  taller  than 
the  Roxburghe  copy,  and  it's  full  a  six- 
teenth of  an  inch  broader  than  the 
broad  Lenox  copy.  There's  just  one 
single  stain,  —  a  mark  of  four  fingers, 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


273 


in  the  middle  of  l  Troilus  and  Cres- 
sida.'  And  for  my  part  I'd  rather  have 
those  old  thick  bevelled  English  oak 
boards  and  that  curly  broken  black 
leather  grinning  open  at  the  corner, 
than  risk  having  the  book  pared  in 
binding  by  Roger  Payne  himself,  —  if 
the  old  cheese-eating  artist  were 
alive  !  Just  see  how  bright  Droes- 
hout's  engraving  is  !  You  couldn't 
improve  that  copy,  humanly  speaking, 
unless  you  could  get  Shakspeare's 
autograph  on  it !  " 

"As  he  died  seven  years  before 
Heminge  &  Condell  published  the 
edition,  that  would  be  too  much  to  ex- 
pect," answered  Mr.  Van  Braam  ;  "  I 
think  we  may  be  contented  with  the 
best  copy  —  for  if  you  are  right,  this 
is  the  best  copy  known." 

"  I  collated  every  folio  of  it,"  said 
Adrian,  with  the  certainty  of  a  bibli- 
ographer, "  by  Bohn's  Lowndes,  and 
by  Mr.  Barton's  privately  printed  ac- 
count of  his  copy.  This  has  not  Mr. 
Barton's  two  cancels,  it  is  true  ;  nor 
any  cancels  ;  but  what  are  cancels  to 
that  extra  white  paper  ?  Toads  to  a 
phoenix !  " 

"What  had  Adrian  Scroope  to  do 
with  Shakspeare,  I  want  to  know?" 
repeated  Mr.  Van  Braam,  after  laugh- 
ing at  Adrian's  Dibdinity ;  "I  should 
have  thought  him  much  more  likely 
to  groan  with  Prynne  in  the  Histrio- 
mastix  over  the  horrid  superiority  in 
stjde  of  manufacture  and  extent  of 
sale,  of  play-books  over  bibles.  Above 
40,000  play-books  sold  in  two  years, 
Prynne  says,  and  he  cannot  but 
with  grief  relate  it." 

"  I  imagine  that  Puritan  or  not, 
Adrian  Scroope  knew  good  literature 
when  he  saw  it,"  said  Adrian,  —  "or 
he  wouldn't  have  been  a  Scroope. 
Scholarly  Puritans  liked  Shakspeare 
well  enough.  Read  Milton's  sonnet 
on  him,  full  of  admiration  and  rever- 


ence. Prynne  was  a  bigot  and  a 
pedant;  not  a  scholar.  Our  friend 
had  to  keep  his  play-book  pretty 
quiet  though,  in  Old  Hartford.  That 
accounts  for  its  being  in  such  prime 
order.  And  the  fact  that  all  the 
books  have  lain  in  pawn  for  a  cen- 
tury and  a  half  accounts  for  all  of 
them  being  in  such  extraordinary 
condition." 

The  whole  collection  was  taken  out 
and  laid  on  the  table.  There  were 
about  thirty  items ;  but  thirty  books 
may  represent  a  comfortable  little  for- 
tune, if  each  volume  will  bring  $17,- 
000  like  the  Perkins  Bible,  or  even 
$11,000  like  the  vellum  Boccacio,  or 
even  $3,580  like  the  Daniel  Shak- 
speare, or  even  $1,100  like  the  Rice 
Indian  Bible.  Besides  these  two 
books,  there  was  a  copy  of  the  Bay 
Psalm  book ;  several  of  the  rarest  of 
the  Mather  publications ;  a  perfectly 
clean  copy  of  the  Indian  Primer  of 
1684 ;  — 

But  those  who  wish  the  details 
may  apply  to  Mr.  Van  Braam  for  a 
copy  of  his  little  privately  printed 
list ;  a  marvel  of  bibliographical  ful- 
ness and  care,  and  in  which  the  zeal- 
ous old  gentleman  has  introduced  a 
number  of  terms  of  enthusiasm 
which — incredible  as  it  may  seem, 
Mr.  Dibdin  did  not  know  of. 

As  for  Mr.  Van  Braam's  happiness, 
it  was  such  that  his  three  companions 
just  sat  and  laughed,  for  pure  sympa- 
thy of  enjoyment  —  and  cried  a  little 
too.  He  laughed  himself,  and  then 
he  stopped  short  and  looked  as  if  he 
was  afraid  they  were  laughing  at  him 
instead  of  with  him. 

"  No,  it's  because  we  are  as  glad  as 
you  are,  father,"  said  Civille,  who 
saw  what  he  was  thinking. 

A  ring  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Barnes 
brought  up  the  cards  of  Dr.  Veroil 
and  Mr.  Stanley. 


274 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


"Show  them  up,"  said  Mr.  Van 
Braarn  —  "  Adrian  "  (in  a  low  tone) 
—  "  my  boy,  have  you  a  list  of  the 
books?" 

"Yes,"  said  Adrian,  laughing; 
"and  we'll  watch  Stanley  with  all 
our  eyes,  too." 

"  I  declare  I've  half  a  mind  to  lock 
'em  up  and  not  say  a  word,"  said  Mr. 
Van  Braarn,  with  a  sort  of  half  genu- 
ine anxiety. 

The  gentlemen  came  in. 

"  A  last  professional  call,"  said  the 
doctor,  pleasantly ;  "  not  to  appear  in 
the  bill,  but  to  be  the  thirteenth  of  a 
good  honest  dozen." 

"  I  staid  a  few  days  longer  in  the 
city  than  I  expected,"  said  Mr.  Stan- 
ley, "  and  hearing  from  Mr.  Purvis 
of  the  great  good  fortune  of  Mr. 
Chester,  I  could  not  resist  the  double 
temptation  to  call  on  my  kinsfolk  and 
to  see  the  treasure." 

The  treasure  was  shown.  Proba- 
bly no  man  in  America  could  so  fully 
appreciate  it  or  could  be  so  intensely 
unhappy  at  not  having  it,  as  Mr. 
Stanley.  He  opened  and  scrutinized 
book  after  book,  in  silence,  pale,  and 
with  a  face  like  a  gravestone.  Por  a 
collector  feels  quite  as  much  anguish 
over  what  another  man  gets,  as  if  he 
himself  had  lost  it.  Meanwhile  Mr. 
Van  Braarn,  watching  him  sharply, 
also  thanked  him  for  his  kindness  in 
helping  him  to  obtain  the  place  of 
librarian. 

"No  kindness  at  all,"  said  Stanley, 
with  his  cold  dry  smile.  "  Pure 
matter  of  business.  Mr.  Chester 
gave  me  the  Scrope  Genealogy,  and 
I  gave  him  my  influence." 

"  You  did ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Van 
Braarn,  in  distress,  to  Adrian. 

"  I  did,"  said  the  young  man,  with 
a  smile,  "  and  would  again  if  it  were 
to  do  now." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  parted  with  that 


pamphlet  to  get  librarianships  for  all 
the  twelve  apostles,  and  Moses,  and 
the  prophets  besides,"  said  Stanley, 
exalting  the  value  of  what  he  had,  to 
comfort  himself  before  the  sight  of 
what  he  had  not. 

"  Oh,  I've  got  another,"  said  Adri- 
an, in  the  quietest  manner  in  the 
world. 

Everybody  started  and  stared. 
Stanley  looked  as  if  he  was  going  to 
faint.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he 
said. 

"Just  that,"  said  Adrian.  "You 
have  your  copy,  haven't  you  ?  " 

Stanley  felt  in  his  pocket,  and 
found  the  precious  pamphlet.  Adrian 
drew  forth  from  his  pocket  another, 
which  he  compared  with  it.  It  was 
true ;  print,  signatures,  sketch  of 
Scrope  arms,  and  alL  Doctor  Veroil 
gave  a  great  laugh. 

"  Found  it  with  .the  books,  I  sup- 
pose," he  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  Adrian. 

"  But  it's  not  according  to  agree- 
ment "  said  Stanley,  his  face  white, 
and  his  voice  trembling,  with  his 
concentrated  anger. 

"Yes  'tis,"  said  Adrian  a  little 
gleefully  :  "  You  said  '  Give  me  your 
Scrope  Genealogy,  and  I'll  get  him 
the  librarianship.'  And  I  said  Done  : 
and  done  it  was.  I  didn't  covenant 
that  there  wasn't  another.  Ask  Pur- 
vis ;  it  was  in  his  shop,  and  he  stood 
by.  I  gave  you  my  Scrope  Genealogy. 
This  one  is  not  mine  5  it  is  Mr.  Van 
Braam's.  Adrian  Scroope  must  have 
kept  two  copies,  marked  alike,  by 
way  of  making  sure  of  the  evidence 
of  his  identity ;  and  instead  of  one, 
it  was  thus  two  that  were  preserved 
when  the  edition  was  destroyed." 

"  Good  enough  for  you,  Stanley," 
said  Dr.  Veroil,  with  satisfaction. 

The  unhappy  East  Hartford  anti- 
quary cast  a  look  of  the  profoundest 


Scrope;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


275 


scorn  upon  his  copy  of  the  Scrope 
Genealogy,  and  slapped  it  down 
vengefully  upon  the  table,  as  if  to 
knock  its  brains  out.  "  I'd  burn  the 
rascally  thing,''  he  exclaimed,  "  if 
'twasn't  for  making  yours  worth 
more,  Adrian  Chester !  But  you've 
got  five  hundred  of  them,  probably  — 
the  whole  edition  !  " 

Nobody  thought  it  worth  while  to 
answer  this  taunt  of  the  infuriated 
Stanley ;  and  Adrian  said,  taking  a 
few  old  yellow  documents  from  his 
pocket, 

"  There  was  a  small  file  of  papers 
too ;  and  a  couple  of  those  are  partic- 
ularly interesting.  This  "  —  he  un- 
folded a  ragged-edged  strip  of  coarse 
paper  —  "is  the  other  half  of  the 
Scroope  Will.  I  don't  know  how  the 
Will  should  have  come  to  be  written 
on  this  leaf  of  an  old  book,  unless 
paper  happened  to  be  scarce  at  the 
moment ;  nor  have  I  the  least  idea 
how  one  half  should  have  strayed  out 
of  the  old  box  and  the  rest  staid  in. 
There  are  accidents  enough,  however 
—  At  any  rate  here  it  is,  with  the 
rest  of  Adrian  Scroope's  name  at 
top  and  in  the  signature.  I  meant  to 
offer  it  to  my  friend  Mr.  Stanley,  but 
I'm  afraid  to  do  so  at  present." 

"  Pass  it  over,"  said  the  antiquary, 
gruffly,  and  yet  making  a  great  effort 
even  so,  — "  least  you  can  do,  I 
think.  You  can't  have  a  second  ori- 
ginal of  that,  at  any  rate  !  " 

Adrian  handed  it  to  him,  and 
Stanley  at  once  subjected  it  to  a 
searching  scrutiny.  Adrian  contin- 
ued :  "  And  here  finally,  is  the  ex- 
planation of  the  career  of  the  books, 
and  of  the  Throop  question  too."  — 

Everybody  looked  up,  even  Stanley 
himself: 

"  Of  course  it  was  plain  enough 
that  the  books  had  come  to  Belleville 
from  the  Van  Booraem  side;  but  as 


the  will  shows  that  they  were  express- 
ly given  to  Deidamia,  it  remained  to 
discover  how  Adriana's  husband, 
Philipp  Van  Booraem  should  have 
made  use  of  them  as  a  pledge  to  bor- 
row money  on.  So  here  is  a  letter 
that  tells  this  story;  it's  a  nice  letter, 
and  a  credit  to  the  family." 

Adrian  read  it ;  it  was  a  formal, 
old  fashioned,  elaborate  composition, 
such  as  the  cultivated  ladies  of  the 
time  used  to  write,  but  through  the 
flourishes  and  periods  there  penetrated 
a  very  lovely  sisterly  affection.  In  it, 
Deidamia  Chester  explained  that  she 
had  received  all  their  deceased  father's 
property  of  every  kind  according  to 
the  tenor  of  the  will ;  that  she  was 
moreover  fully  possessed  of  his  per- 
sonal wishes,  which  the  document  did 
not  clearly  explain.  According  to 
these,  she  continued,  she  had  con- 
veyed to  "  our  dear  Brother  Adrian 
or  Adeodatus  Throop,  presently  a  Min- 
ister in  Norwich "  (Bozrah  was  not 
set  off  from  Norwich  as  New  Concord 
until  1737,  explained  Adriau)  "his 
full  share  and  rightful  inheritance," 
viz.,  the  real  estate'  left  by  the 
deceased,  and  sundry  books  of  divin- 
ity. The  personal  property,  "  and 
amongst  it  the  rest  of  the  books,  and 
even  a  Bible  or  two,"  the  writer  had 
kept;  and  then  she  added  that  she 
loved  her  sister  as  much  as  her 
brother;  that  she  knew  their  father 
would  at  this  moment  (viz.  of  her 
writing)  choose  that  she  should  follow 
her  own  heart  rather  than  the  recol- 
lections of  his  displeasure  while  alive; 
and  that  therefore  she  should  insist 
that  Adriana  should  accept  a  full  and 
just  half  of  the  personal  estate  re- 
ferred to  ;  "  and,"  pursued  the  kind- 
hearted  woman,  "  inasmuch  as  my 
deare  Husband  is  a  man  of  aetivitie 
and  publique  trusts,  and  whereas  your 
Philipp  is  a  Student,   doubtlesse  hee 


^76 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


may  preferr  to  his  share  (which  is 
yours)  in  part  all  the  Bookes  which  I 
have  kept,  and  indeed,  deare  Sister, 
I  did  perhaps  keepe  them  to  that 
end."  And  so,  with  many  expres- 
sions of  affection,  the  quaint  old  doc- 
ument ended. 

"  There  is  an  indorsement,"  con- 
cluded Adrian,  "which  notes  that 
hooks  and  money  and  furniture  were 
received  accordingly.  Now  this  letter 
tells  the  whole  story,  you  see. 
The  Reverend  Mr.  Throop  remained 
Throop  in  Bozrah.  Very  likely  his 
old  father  went  and  lived  there  qui- 
etly with  him,  and  died  and  was 
huried  there.  I  shall  search  the  old 
burying-ground  when  I  go  there  for 
an  ancient  gravestone  with  A.  T.,  or 
A.  S.,  or  both,  on  it.  It  was  the  son, 
however,  not  the  father,  who  was  the 
Reverend  Adeodatus  Throop  of  Boz- 
rah. Deidamia  kept  the  Scrope 
Chest,  which  staid  at  Hartford.  As 
for  the  student  Philipp  Van  Booraem, 
he  wanted  money,  and  pledged  the 
books  to  his  grouty  Dutch  cousins, 
and  the  ill-conditioned  creatures  kept 
them  safe  for  us ;  I'm  under  obliga- 
tions to  them." 

"  Well,"  said  Civille,  "  it  was  quite 
right  in  Deidamia  to  do  that." 

"  Certainly,"  said  her  father,  "  any 
of  us  would  have  done  it,  I  hope." 

"It  would  have  been  a  struggle  for 
some  of  you,"  observed  Dr.  Veroil 
with  a  funny  look  at  Stanley ;  "  as  for 
the  rest,  the  question  might  have 
served  to  test  the  blood,  for  what  I 
know,  I  don't  imagine  Mr.  Button 
would  have  thought  it  necessary." 

"  How  is  Mr.  Button  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Van  Braam. 

"  About  the  same,"  said  the  physi- 
cian ;  "  he  may  live  twenty  years  in 
this  state ;  or  he  may  go  off  to-mor- 
row. His  active  life  is  ended,  how- 
ever, at  any  rate." 


"And  his  Theological  Seminary, 
and  the  Scrope  Association,  are  ended 
too,  I  guess,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
with  sympathy  that  had  a  faint  color 
of  amusement. 

"  All  buttoned  up  together,"  said 
Stanley,  with  a  grim  cold  satisfac- 
tion not  tinged  at  all  with  sympathy. 
"  How  is  it,  Chester  ?  " 

"  One  is  as  dead  as  a  herring,  and 
the  other  as  Julius  Caesar,  Mr.  Stan- 
ley," said  Adrian  —  "  as  you  seem  to 
faucy  figures  of  speech  in  the  matter. 
In  fact,  I  got  a  most  enthusiastic  let- 
ter two  days  ago  addressed  to  Mr. 
Button,  from  Mr.  Aymar  Brabazon 
de  Vere  Scrope  of  Scrope  "  — 

"  Mr.  Bird  called  him  <  Brab,'  "  in- 
terrupted Civille,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  let  him  have  his  name,"  said 
Stanley,  "he  hasn't  much  else,  I 
guess"  — 

"Agent  of  the  Scrope  Association, 
to  say  that  legal  proceedings  had  been 
set  on  foot  with  every  hope  and  al- 
most a  certainty  of  success;  that  this 
was  the  more  evident  from  the  active 
opposition  already  set  up  by  certain 
wealthy  parties  now  in  possession  of 
some  of  the  Scrope  lands  in  Bucking- 
hamshire; that  the  prize  was  mag- 
nificent ;  that  law  expenses  were 
heavy  "  — 

"  There  it  comes ! "  said  Stanley 
with  a  grin. 

"  Yes,"  said  Adrian  —  "  it  does  — ; 
in  fact,  unexpectedly  heavy,  he  ad- 
mits ;  but  he  appeals  to  Mr.  Button's 
family  pride  and  enterprise  and  de- 
cision of  character  and  so  on,  and 
wants  a  remittance  of  a  thousand 
dollars,  say  £200  gold,  at  once." 

"  I  wish  he  may  get  it !  "  said  Stan- 
ley, —  "  what  did  you  reply  ?  " 

"  I  wrote  him  a  formal  business 
letter  as  attorney  for  Mr.  Button,  to 
explain  that  he  was  not  of  the  family 
after  all,  and  to  request  repayment  of 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 


277 


the  sum  of  $500,  cash  advanced,  or  a 
note  of  hand  satisfactorily  indorsed, 
for  the  same  with  interest." 

"Why,"  said  Stanley,  "Button 
didn't  expect  repayment,  and  you 
can't  enforce  it,  even  if  Scrope  were 
here." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Adrian  ;  "  but 
we  sha'n't  hear  from  him  any  more." 

"Chester,"  said  Dr.  Veroil,  "you 
were  telling  me  one  day  about  that 
devilish  cellar  saloon  place  in  one  of 
Mr.  Button's  houses  where  you  and 
Bird  and  Scrope  went  one  night  "  — 

"  I  know,  doctor,"  said  Adrian 
—  "I  warned  the  fellow  out  the 
very  day  I  saw  the  lawj^er,  I  found 
the    attorney    didn't    much   like    to 


have  the  estate  lose  the  rent,  but 
I  told  him  at  once  that  if  any 
such  questions  were  made  I  should 
drop  the  whole  business,  and  he 
held  his  tongue.  They  offered  to 
add  fifty  per  cent  to  the  rent ;  but  I 
don't  agree  with  Vespasian  ;  I  think 
such  money  does  smell  bad.  So  out 
they  go,  Paradise,  devils,  fig-leaves 
and  all." 

The  visitors  soon  took  leave,  Stanley 
somewhat  mollified  by  his  manuscript. 
It  was  growing  late. 

"  It's  time,  to  go  to  bed,"  said  Miss 
Chester. 

"  Sing  us  one  song  first,  Adrian," 
said  Civille. 

He  sang  Tennyson's  "  Bugle  Song." 


BUGLE  SONG. 


3=^ 


'• — ^=±^-jzJI^tzrj3 


The  splendor  falls  on  cas  -  tie  walls,And  snowy  summits    old       in    sto  -  ry,   The 


Scrope ;  or,  The  Lost  Library. 

BUGLE    SONG. —  Continued. 


l'=£fefe:izE£=i^=f3^ii=l 


bu  -  gle,blow,      Set    the     wild        ech  -  oes     fly 
_      _„-_„_      °Z9+   8VA. 


si 


:c:t: 


ing!        Blow, 


ggJJBFEfe^piai 


^ 


E^jpp^E 


rallent. 


:s^=i 


fe§£ 


-9-- 


III 


bu  -  gle,  an  -  swer,ech  -  oes,dy  -  ing,  dy  -ing,      dy 
-0-ft-tz     8va. 


^^^^^^i 


^s»=iE=i=!:yj 


"  Is  it  true,  Civille  ?  "  said  Adrian, 
turning  to  her  as  be  finished  the  last 
of  the  three  sweet  stanzas. 


She  only  blushed  and  looked    at 


him. 


Ill 


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